


Obsession and Redemption

by callih



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/M, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-17
Updated: 2013-07-17
Packaged: 2017-12-20 12:15:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 78,320
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/887156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callih/pseuds/callih
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When their secret is threatened by a young female author's imagination, what other secrets and truths will emerge as Reese and Finch protect their newest person of interest...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. It's All In How You Look At It...

A startling crack of lightening lit up the surrounding skyline.

John Reese instinctively shielded his eyes from the blinding light. In the split second before the effect faded, a distinct imprint of the rain soaked streets below his fifth story loft, was etched upon his mind's eye.

A low, ominous roll of thunder echoed about the taller buildings in the area.

He could remember a time when a good rainstorm meant a decent night's sleep. He glanced over to the ruffled covers of his queen sized bed. To be warm and toasty inside comfortable sheets while the elements raged outside was a luxury he could no longer afford.

The truth of the matter was, Reese could not recall the last time he had a good night's rest...unless you counted that little incident on top of that roof downtown a couple months back.

Being wounded by a high-powered weapon often called for a little more pain relief than over the counter medicines supplied. The stuff that doctor had given him had taken the decision out of his hands. 

They told him he had slept for two days. He didn't remember the days which followed too well, only awakening in a clean, sterile hotel room with one hell of a headache and the feeling that half his gut was missing and the half that was left was on fire and hurting like hell.

At least a real Doctor had been present that time, offering good drugs to counteract the pain and the room was spacious and lit with soft rays of sunlight in the early afternoons that kinda cheered him somewhat.

A more welcoming awakening, than some other 'iffy' moments in his past life.

Nights like this brought it all back.

Reese looked out on the silent streets, staring at the night through world-weary eyes.

Still, he mused, it wasn't as bad as it used to be.

He had a place. He glanced around the darkness behind him absently. It was a nice place. He hadn't really made it 'home' as yet, granted. Finch must have paid a pretty penny for a loft in this section of Chinatown. It had even come furnished. The guy had good taste, Reese had to give him that.

Yeah, he had a place...he had even been given a purpose, one he felt good about again. Which was more important to him, than he wanted to admit.

He even had friends...well, people he could count on. People that had his back. People he trusted...for the most part. Good people. Decent people. People that had no hidden agendas.

He had forgotten people like that existed.

He closed the blinds, the ones he had come home to one day. Finch must have thought he needed a little privacy. Or maybe someone complained about him walking around at night in the raw. Who knew? 

He headed for the john. He needed to piss. His bladder was crying out for a little relief. Scotch went straight through him these days. 

He needed to catch a few more winks. He had a hard taskmaster these days, one who expected a clear head and keen wits about a guy at all times.

A difficult mission to accomplish, on a couple hours sleep and a fourth bottle of hooch. 

The good news? That fourth bottle used to constitute two or three whole ones.

Things were looking up.

***********************************************************************************************************************************************************

A vivid flash of light lit the entire area outside Harold Finch’s massive windows. The mammoth abandoned library building the man used as a temporary headquarters, shook with the power of the sizzling strike of electricity.

Finch did not even note the lightening flash or the subsequent thunder boom which followed, too engrossed in the data flitting across his computer screens.

A minute part of his infamous brain did register a slight annoyance, for the decibels of the storm filtered through, disturbing his absolute concentration somewhat.

Anything or anyone accomplishing such a goal always got under his skin just a tad.

Not much managed break the usual façade of determined ‘cool’ the man exuded however.

Harold Finch was the ultimate multi-tasker, able to balance any number of mind boggling tasks at once.  
To say he was ‘focused’ was a gross understatement.

His rapid eye-hand movement ceased for a moment, his capable hands hovering over the keyboard. Harold stared blankly at the information loading on his screens. He read rapidly.

Without hesitation or forethought, he reached for his cell, pushing the second digit, waiting patiently for the now familiar voice to pick up on the receiving end of the call.

He did not have long to wait. 

“Mr. Reese…we have a new number...two actually.”  
**********************************************************************************************************************************************************

Across town, in a less descriptive part of the city, in a decidedly less expensive apartment complex, a young woman hunkered down into a soft, fuzzy coverlet, her pretty enough features scrunched into a determined concentration.  
Her blonde, unruly curls were twisted haphazardly about a black velvet tie, setting precariously askew the top of her head, long tendrils escaping, framing a small, heart-shaped face with soft abandonment.

She sat on a well-used but still functional divan of light crushed faux leather material, her petite figure all but enveloped by the oversized jungle-print 'throw' she had snuggled into.

She scribbled frantically, jotting down a bold faced print, her hands moving quickly over the off-white sheets of the notebook she held close to her face, pen to paper. She was nearsighted and without her glasses at the moment.

The one dim light of the small room offered little luminosity for the task she had assigned herself.  
The blinding streak of lightening startled her from her reverie, a tiny feminine gasp escaping her suddenly stiff form.

Wide set emerald eyes blinked anxiously at the following thunder clap and for a brief moment, she watched the heavy rain sheet down the skylight above her head, unto the north pitch of the roof.

Inclement weather was summarily dismissed in the next instance however. It was late and she had a deadline to meet.

She had already sent her synopsis to David, her publisher. Something she always regretted but such was the nature of her beast. She wasn’t going to waste time writing something no one had an interest in reading.

But, once a project caught her attention, her imagination was fired, adrenalin fueled her creativity.

From then on, it was a veritable race to see which gave out first...her nervous system or her over-active brain.

The entire time it took to complete the project, she lived on strong coffee, fast food, white frosted donuts and nervous energy.

It was an exciting time, a good time, and except for the evitable ‘crash’ which always followed, the best time ever!

After weeks of suffering from ‘writer’s block’, things were looking up.

 

********************************************************************************************************************************************************

“..Harold, it’s four- twenty in the morning.” Reese rubbed his bleary eyes, rolling over in his new Tempur Pedic bed, struggling to a sitting position on the side of the mattress, stifling a yawn.

The statement momentarily waylaid the other man. “…Your point?”

Reese drew in a breath, shaking his head slightly, a quick grin coming and going on the ridiculously handsome face.

“Time is of the essence, Mr. Reese. I have dispatched Detective Fusco to a ..” the man checked his ‘source’, glancing at his screen absently. “Ms. Taylor Davidivitch’s home address. She is employed by Harper and Cain Publishers. So far, nothing is showing up in her financial records. But her life is pretty much an open book. I reference of course, her ‘Facebook’ page. To say the woman is ‘open and frank’ concerning her… well, almost every aspect of her personal life right down to her last fiasco of a date with a line dancer from the Off-Broadway musical, ‘The King and I’.” Finch was astounded. “I didn’t even have to hack her account… she ‘friended’ me.”

Reese frowned slightly, pulling on the jeans he had grabbed from the back of the high back chair beside his bed. He had actually picked that one out himself just last week. He hadn’t sat in it for any extended period of time but he had liked it in the show room. “I don’t like musicals.”

“The fact women put such personal details out there for any and all to peruse is a little more than frightening to me.”

“Yeah, they really should be more circumvent. Never know who is lurking out there on the Internet these days.” Reese could not resist a slight ‘dig’ to his employer, his smile reaching his eyes only.

“I’m sending you the other woman’s address.” Finch punched the correct buttons, choosing to ignore the veiled insult sent his way. “Amanda Collins.”

Reese's mood faded as he checked his phone, reading the street numbers, memorizing them instantly. He finished buttoning the light gray shirt, putting his cell into the inside pocket of his jacket, the one hanging on the back of the kitchen table. “The author?”

“I wouldn’t refer to her as such. She has published a few rather tawdry novels over the past seven years.” Finch had read as much from his computer data. “What passes for literature these days not only troubles me, Mr. Reese...it rather appalls. I long for the days where a writer used his intelligence and wit.”

“She was on the New York Times best seller list a few times.” Reese had actually tried to read one of the novels a few years back. He preferred skimming the ‘good parts’ “Page 146 held some promise...I believe the title of the book was something along the lines of ..” The man mused, automatically setting his security system before opening the door to his apartment, exiting into the long corridor which would lead to the elevator to the left. “Scottish Lord’s Mistress …or was it, Highland Slut.”

“Laird.” Finch corrected. “You made those titles up. None of which was listed on her ‘homepage.’”

“A publisher...an author.” Reese road patiently down in the empty elevator, his thoughts flowing freely. “Must be connected.”

“Undoubtedly but as of now..” Finch concurred. “I can only find the obvious. Nothing in either individual’s past or present even remotely suggests a reason to target them.”

“As you once said...no one said it would be easy.” Reese had come to accept that fact. “I’m on our Ms. Collins, contact you when I know more.”


	2. Things Are Not As They Seem...

Harold Finch shook his head, a disgruntled sound escaping his throat. He had loosened his tie, the dark maroon one with a geometric design, which complimented his lighter cream vest.

The man had been working steadily for a while now, his hard work finally unveiling a few tidbits of his Person Of Interest's past.

"'Cordelia Fellows' indeed." he scoffed at such an archaic name, grimacing slightly as he read the text imprinted upon his computer screen. "How does one derive the pseudonym 'Amanda Collins' from such an obscure moniker?" he pondered the why of it all, coming up empty. "She could not think up a suitable anagram even?"

He chalked it up to unimaginative thought processes. "Well, no matter Ms. Fellows. ‘A rose by any other name.’ You still top our most wanted list tonight, do you not." he mused out loud, his fingers effortlessly gliding over the keyboard. 

Harold swiveled his comfortable chair to another section of his desk, scooting to his right. "but you still refuse give up your secrets.." he studied the scant information provided from a clipping found in 'New Yorker' magazine dated October of last year. "Generic rhetoric is all you ever supply the media, I see. Which means you are either a very private individual, a very boring one..or you have something to hide."

The man switched back to his original screen. "Let us try our sterling judicial system." He worked his magic and within minutes a document appeared before his patient eyes. "..Sealed juvenile records." Harold's forehead wrinkled slightly as he stared at the data presented, reading rapidly. "Detective Carter will be useful in unveiling that part of your life at least..the proverbial 'joy ride in a stolen vehicle' no doubt. Such youthful shenanigans are to be expected, I am given to understand but still, one must pursue all avenues."  
Harold sat back, sighing lightly. “You are rather an elusive prey. You seem lead an exemplary life. Especially for a supposedly noted, established literary figure.”

The man leaned on his desk, steepling his fingers, pursing his lips. “According to your bank statements, you eat takeout most nights. The monetary amounts suggest, it’s always dinner for one. You appear particularly fond of the Number Seven from ‘Won’s Express’..49th and Parkway.”

His hands dropped to his side for a beat. “Hummm.” He activated his ‘blue tooth’. “Mr. Reese. Have you reached your destination as yet?”

The silky whisper of a controlled, calm voice came back through the earpiece immediately. There was something both soothing yet singularly sinister to the low, melodic reply. “It appears..Mr. Finch.” Reese had a way of needling the other man for Harold’s overly proper use of correct titles, his tone a little censored but decidedly wistful on this occasion. “We arrived just in the nick of time.”

“Is something amiss?” Harold sat up, his interest caught.

Keen, intelligent eyes watched the lone figure from Reese’s advantage point just inside the stairwell of the Fourth floor apartment complex which was the home of Amanda Collins.

“We have an uninvited guest at Ms. Collins’ door even as we speak.” If that fact overly concerned the younger man, one would never have known it from his reaction.

Harold was more than alert and cautious however, enough for the two of them. “…Just the one?”

“So far.” Was Reese’s lazy reply, suggesting even if more were lurking about, it would be no real problem or threat.

Inside the dimly lit apartment, a totally unsuspecting woman sat, blissfully unaware of any danger, for the intruder was a professional who knew his job well, the locks on the door giving him little pause, his instruments of choice used silently, efficiently wielded in capable hands.

Amanda heard nothing except the steady drone of rain outside her windows, not even the soft click of the door handle as it was eased open.

But, Amanda was an avid fan of mystery novels and always erred on the side of caution. Three chains barred the intruder’s path.

Reese witnessed the unmistakable anger transmitted within the curt snap of the other man’s head. Something was not going as planned. He could make out the very uncivil words being mouthed by the guy.

The obstacle, whatever it was, would not stop such an obviously determined foe, however. The man’s fury was transmitted to the gesture which followed.

The chains did not give easily, however, needing a second and third kick to dislodge before the door facing splintered. The noise must have been heard by the other tenants but none showed their faces.

Ah..New York. A nice place to visit, you just didn’t want to live here, Reese ruminated thoughtfully before pushing himself to action.

Hours later, Amanda would relive the moments which followed over and over again, but still, she would have difficulty putting it all in order in her mind.

She shot up off the divan at the sounds of the unmistakable knowledge that someone was now inside her apartment, adrenalin shooting through her entire body. 

Instinctively, she reached for the phone sitting on the end table, even having time to dial the first two numbers before the large, menacing shape was upon her.

A tall bulk of a man towered over her, soft leather gloves slipping effortlessly about her throat. She gasped at the strength behind the deadly touch, iron fingers tightening, restricting her airway instantly, pain surging into the fragile tendons of her neck muscles.  
Black spots danced before her eyes as a white haze beckoned her into it’s quiet intensity.

She clawed at the immovable talons but sensed it was a losing battle even if she had no intention of giving up.

All her good intentions seemed for naught, for her assailant was just as determined and a hell of a sight more skilled in the ways of such an art.

But just as rapidly as the assault began, the pressure was released and she was sent sprawling backward, off balanced and falling, gasping for air.

She landed with a sharp thud on the hardwood floor between the divan and coffee table, her entire right side taking the brunt of contact, the left side of her head cracking ominously against the edge of the opposite end table, sliding the heavy object a good three feet across the room, the fragile lamp it housed tipping over, crashing into a million pieces as the delicate globes hit the floor.

The blow stunned the woman. She struggled to maintain consciousness, vaguely aware of another more violent struggle taking place very close by.

She tried to sit, her head throbbing painfully, her vision blurred and unfocused, a sharp piercing ache permeating her entire being.

Two mammoth bulks weaved and swayed, shifting about in the darkened rooms. There was dim light but she could not phantom the source.

She instinctively shrank away from the sounds of fisticuffs, forcing herself erect, knowing she must somehow escape this heinous moment but she was wobbly, her steps uncertain and misdirected.

She staggered forward, bracing herself against the divan and coffee table as best she could. Her eyes fell on her notebook still laying where she had dropped it, on the cushion of the couch. She snatched it close, holding it to her bosom, lunging for the doorway, for the light from the hallway illuminated the arched entrance.

A garbled sound escaped her throat as a thick, muscular arm encircled her neckline yet again, the strangling pressure worse than before. She could feel hard muscles and smell the stench of sweat and alcohol on the fabric of the sleeve, gagging from the overpowering scents.

A mammoth hand cupped the side of her head, steely fingers bending it at an impossible angle, her hair pulled hurtfully, forcing stinging tears to her eyes.

A loud ‘pop’ exploded by her right ear and suddenly, she was free, gulping in copious amounts of life-giving breaths, coughing spasmodically, weeping freely, fear and shock traversing her entire system.

She clawed at her throat, attempting to help it ease air down it’s painfully swollen passageway, her skin raw and raked with red, unsightly scrapes and marks from the buttons on her assailant’s jacket sleeve.

“Don’t force it.” A velvet fog of a whisper soothed and calmed. “Take deep, slow breaths..” strong hands guided and supported her shaking form.

She tried desperately to follow the directions but her body craved oxygen and her throat seemed closed off permanently, the air she was getting in miniscule in nature, at best.

“Slow..deep..steady..”

He was leaning over her, his hands supporting her weight for she had sank down on the divan, her knees on the floor, her body rigid..more than tense.

“They know where you live.” The man whispered his urgency. “You can’t stay here.”

Who ‘they’ were..or ‘he’ was..she had no clue but something in his tone alerted her to danger and she tried very hard to respond.

“Good girl.” The compliment washed over her like honey on a hot bun and she flushed fully but did not understand the why of it. “Just lean on me.” He was guiding her, his touch gentle, his pace, slow.

It wasn’t so much the sound advice he offered but the matter-of-fact tone which halted any thought of refusal or denial on Amanda’s part.

She found herself meekly following his lead, and in minutes she found herself in the second floor stairwell of her apartment building, concentrating on his footsteps that clicked smartly on the concrete of the stairs. She was barefoot, dressed only in the grey sweat pants and green sage tee with it’s cryptic lettering which read: ‘Nine Out Of Ten Voices In My Head Say…Shoot.’  
She had the ensemble for years, the faded lettering and colors bemoaning the fact.

“Is..t-that man..” she was amazed at her ability to speak but already, her throat seemed determined to return to normal even if her nervous system could not. “a-alright?”

“..Depends on your definition of ‘alright’.” The gravelly, silken tones washed over her tired, frantic brain yet again. “He tried to snap your neck..you are aware of that fact, right?” Reese put his coat around the girl’s shivering shoulders.

“..Who are you?” she stared at the noble profile, struck by how very handsome the stranger was. “I…don’t know y-you.”

“You’re safe.” She was informed by Mel Torme, that odd, hypnotic voice waylaying a goodly measure of her doubt and insecurity. “I’m here to help.”

Reese took a moment to allow her regroup. He knew the signs well. The white palor of shock, the haunted, vacant eyes which watched him so trustingly. “Your head is bleeding.” He produced a handkerchief from within the confides of his leather jacket, dabbing at the swollen, red gash at her right temple.

Her cold hand covered his warm fingers, taking the folded cloth, as she stared at the evidence of his proclamation.

“Finch..” Reese made mention. “What was that doctor’s name? The one who stitched me up last month? We may need him to take a look at her.”

“ I think you mean..Dr. Farooq Madan.” Finch stated. “She may be more comfortable with Dr. Tillman, however. I’ll look into it.”

The emerald eyes lifted, bewildered. “We..should call the police.” Her words seemed hollow..forced. “Shouldn’t we?”

“The police can only help after the fact.” Reese knew how the system worked. “They are good at investigating a crime after it has occurred. I don’t think you want to be a statistic, do you Ms. Collins?”

“Three out of four..” the woman was trying very hard to hold it together, he knew but she was losing the battle. “m-murders..are never solved.”

“Mr. Reese..” Finch was losing patience. “Get out of there. Discussion time can wait.”

“Take it easy, Finch.” Reese could see the visible signs of a possible breakdown, whereas his employer could not. “Give her some time.”

“..He’s your boss.” The woman motioned to his concealed earpiece. “We should go.” She resumed her steps, her hands shaking, fumbling occasionally on the bannister as she went. She still clutched the notebook, her knuckles white from the exertion, Reese noted. “..This..doesn’t happen to me a lot. I guess I’m not handling it as well as I should.”

Reese’s mouth quirked, his eyes softening a tad. 

“There is no reason on Earth I should blithely leave this building with a man I just met. One who..” she refused to finish the sentence even in her own mind. “but, logic dictates..I must.” She halted just inside the side entrance to the building. “Will you give me your word ..not to hurt me?”

Reese was amazed at such naiveté but also..intrigued by such sincerity. “would you take it?” he was curious.

Finch’s brow furrowed quizzically for such a stupid exchange.

The question seemed rhetorical for Amanda pushed the heavy door open, handkerchief to her forehead. She looked up at the rain as it pelted her face and shoulders.  
Reese glanced at her bare feet. “The car is over there.” He pointed. “Should I carry you?”

“Certainly not.” The girl balked, taking off determinedly across the puddled street. She was shivering by the time he helped her into the passenger side.

Once inside, Reese could sense she was rethinking her former bravado. He drove mechanically, visually alert to any would be tag-a-longs, but the streets were almost deserted.

He could feel her stare although, admittedly, mostly she just jotted down rapidly something in that damned book she held so close to the small light of the glove compartment.

“Taking down the street names?” he queried. “Should I find a service station? You could write it all on the bathroom mirror.”

“Most serial killers are very charming.”

Finch held his smile for the off-handed remark.

“Not that you are one..probably not, at least.” Amanda stopped writing long enough to ponder the statement. “You’ve had numerous chances to..well..you know.” She pushed her hair, which had fallen from it’s confides long since, damp and curly, falling lushly down her back and over her shoulders.

Reese had kicked the heat on in the vehicle. She had stopped shivering at least.

“So, I am assuming one of two things.” The small voice continued and Finch thought, perhaps she talked to ward off her fear..or to stop thinking about what might have happened.. or what might.. still. “that you are taking me to a more private place in which to..do the bad things or, hopefully.. you are simply what you appear to be.”

“Which is?”

“Very competent.” She returned to her writing. “Professional.” She glanced over at him for a beat. “Reluctantly..kind.”

Finch didn’t think that description applied to his counterpart what-so-ever..well, the last part, certainly.

“You realize, Mr. Reese..that she is simply transferring her gratitude for you having saved her life into a rather Freudian need to reach out to you..sexually.”

“I have a headache.” Reese quipped. “And I have to wash my hair. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Oh, no.” the woman shook her head. “I’m not attracted to you. OHH..not that you aren’t..attractive. You ARE..” she stammered, flushing slightly. “Really. It’s just that. I like..older men. In that way, I mean. But, you truly are a handsome man. And, I feel like I know you from somewhere, not that that is a pick-up line or anything. You just look so familiar. You really do.”

Reese shifted a sideways glance, nothing more.

“I wrote a book about a serial killer once, that’s all, you see and he was a lot like you in that..he was really handsome and he had kind eyes.” She prattled on and Finch found himself sighing heavily, wishing she would just shut up now. “I thought that was important..you know,..the eyes? Life isn’t like novels at all ..is it.” She fell silent, her thoughts forced to recall the night’s experiences.


	3. Confusion Runs Rampant…

Reese let the question pass because the answer was too depressing for the girl to hear aloud, he imagined, especially after what had happened to her this night.

"I’ve read most of your books." He offered an off-handed remark , however, turning unto a quiet, tree-lined avenue on the upper side of Manhattan. Sometimes a white lie was a good thing.

Amanda swirled about in the seat, her hands tightening happily on the edges of her notebook. "You DID?" she asked breathlessly, now staring at the man in something akin to awe.

"You DID??" Finch asked, clearly appalled at the news, staring at the screen in something akin to awe.

Reese nodded minutely, ignoring the man completely. "I spent a lot of time in airports between flights." He told a partial truth. "Light reading..took my mind off..things."

" ‘Light reading’." Ms. Fellows’ mood sank a bit. "A polite way of saying, there is no ‘Pulitzer’ in your future, Ms. Collins." She cast the man an old-fashioned look, long since realizing her limitations, however.

"Cordelia Fellows." Finch corrected the misconception. "And no..I do not foresee such accolades in the up and coming years for our resident ‘Romance Novelist’, more’s the pity."

Which didn’t sound all that sincere to Reese’s ears. "Cordelia?" he repeated, stifling a smirk.

‘Cordelia’s’ mouth fell agape, a pink flush creeping into the high cheekbones. "Oh, God..really?" She hoped her senses were wrong in this instance. "You know my real name.." another thought struck her, one even more heinous in nature. "HE…knows?"

Before either man could reply, the girl’s attitude altered visibly, her body stiffening. She straightened, arms folded stubbornly over her chest area.  
"It was my grandmother’s name!"

"It’s a very nice name." Reese soothed some ruffled feathers, pulling the car into a space between two parked sedans, expertly measuring the distance.

"So is Adolf, but I wouldn’t name my child that." Finch was positive.

"From a more genteel time." Reese thought about clicking the Blue Tooth off for a beat, but..he didn’t. "When women were women.

‘Cordelia’ settled at the obvious attempt to set matters to rights. "..And men were very gallant, reliable and..responsible individuals."

"I have always thought those times produced a rather chauvinistic breed of males."

"Thanks, Finch..appreciate your point of view on the matter."

"You asked."

"No I didn’t." Reese cut the engine, checking with his passenger who seemed oblivious to his conversation with Finch.

She sat, staring out the side window, having wiped the haze of ‘fog’ from the glass. Rain drops blurred the image of the street somewhat. "..It’s a very nice house." She seemed surprised.

Reese noted the stately town house to which she referred, with it’s well-maintained façade, black wrought iron fence and immaculately kept grounds. It was one of four on the entire block. Each more elaborately ostentatious than the next, in his humble opinion.

"Serial killing pays well." He opened the door, exiting the vehicle. In seconds he was around the car, opening her door, offering his hand for assistance.

"The guy on the other end of the Blue Tooth.." the woman ignored the outstretched hand, feeling rather foolish had she accepted it. She was perfectly capable of exiting a car by herself, after all. Although a part of her liked the old-fashioned etiquette displayed. "Is he your boss?"

"..You’re very observant." Reese was not sure he liked the fact, following slowly as she made her way around puddles and wet pavement. He had dropped his hand aside.

"She IS a writer, Mr. Reese." Finch reminded. "..Of sorts."

"Play nice, Finch." The other man muttered lowly for Finch’s ears alone.

“Did he say something derogatory about me?” Cordelia halted her brisk steps, twirling about, having traversed the four concrete steps leading up to the covered entrance of the house.

The door opened unceremoniously, halting the need for an answer. “..Detective Fusco.” Reese liked the guy’s timing. “May I introduce the very well-received novelist, Amanda Collins.” He inclined his head almost regally. “Ms. Collins..one of New York’s finest..Lionel Fusco, at your service.”

“Yeah, yeah..” the burly man ushered them inside, his tone a little surly. “Nice to meet ya, get in already.” He checked the streets with the trained eyes of an observer before closing the door on the outside world.

The foyer was somewhat cramped, housing only an elegant coat rack fashioned from cherry wood. One section dominated by a beautifully constructed stairwell which led upstairs, a small corridor opened into a spacious step-down living area.

Lionel Fusco was small of stature when one placed him beside John Reese but the ease with which the younger man conversed with his counterpart, his body language said..the detective was an invaluable asset to whatever ‘business’ Reese was involved in.

Although broader of build, Fusco appeared stout and capable, his manner saying, he was able to handle himself in difficult situations.

He often deferred to Reese in a variety of ways but their relationship seemed built on mutual respect to Cordelia Fellows’ way of thinking. She was an avid student of human behavior, after all.

She scrutinized the two men closely while they exchanged information.

“Your buddy is inside, none too happy with the way of things, let me tell you.” Fusco surprised the woman by speaking directly to her. “Next time?” he had returned to Reese. “YOU get the older dame.”

“No more Raymond Chandler novels for you, Detective.” Reese reminded Fusco with a ‘look’, that a ‘lady’ was present. “Besides, not sure you would be up to the little reception that greeted us, hey, Ms. Collins?”

“Fellows.” Finch corrected effortlessly.

“..Which do you prefer?” Reese was curious. “Your pseudonym or..” he left it up in the air.

“Well," the ‘older dame’,” a new arrival on the scene took everyone’s attention. “ Affectionately refers to her as ‘poopyhead’ but she feels most comfortable with her real name, don’t ya, honey.”

Cordelia’s face lit up, her mouth falling open. “DAVY!!!”

Reese had heard the other woman’s approach, Fusco stilling his natural reaction to ‘unexpected visitors’ by a discrete shake of the detective’s head alerting Reese that.. ‘all was well on the Western Front’.

He examined the other woman meticulously, much as he was being examined, exchanging oblique glances with Fusco who smirked accordingly, aware of the effect Reese usually had on women, no matter their age. 

Cordelia rushed down the two carpeted steps, happy to see one of her own kind, sqealing her delight.

“..I don’t…hug.” The older woman halted any such display with a frosty warning and hand held out before her. Even the word seemed distasteful to her. “As well you know, Cordelia Fellows.”

The young woman pulled up short, stifling her youthful excitement, settling for an overly bright smile of welcome. “What are YOU doing here?”

“According to Kojak over there,” Taylor Davidivitch hooked a thumb in Fusco’s direction. “My life was in ‘danger’..” she quoted with her fingers, rolling her eyes expressively. “From some unknown source. The only danger I’ve been in so far is from his coffee.”

Cordelia turned troubled eyes to John Reese. “What?”

“You ladies can be of tremendous help if you would?” he indicated the huge leather sofa behind them, motioning with his hand. “If you could answer a few questions?”  
A half hour later, after brief, nondescript explanations from Reese, Finch knew little more than he had in the beginning.

“This is getting us nowhere.” The man arose from his computer chair, removing his tie, laying it carefully aside. “They don’t have a clue and you can take that any way you please, Mr. Reese. Either they are lying to us or they truly are just rather stupid individuals.”

“Why are you so grumpy today?” Reese pondered over the fact. 

“I’m not grumpy, Sweetheart.” Davidivitch halted her tirade concerning..well, just about everything under the sun, seeking out the questioner. “I’m just a New Yorker.” She waved a dismissing hand to an amused John Reese. “You’ll get used to me after a while.” She sat on the arm of the chair he had chosen upon entry to the living room and the ‘inquisition’ had begun, as the older woman had christened it. “…Are you married?”

Reese’s tongue flicked along the top edge of his lips, his eyes twinkling mischievously. 

“DAVY!” Cordelia chastised. “Behave! He doesn’t know you well enough for that just yet.”

Davidivitch eased closer to Reese. He kinda liked her perfume but he tried not to let on because..he was a professional.

“..What better way to get to..get acquainted.” The woman smiled sweetly down at Reese. “Except the usual way, of course.” She sighed contentedly.

“Davidivitch!” Cordelia blushed for her friend, her full lips tightening slightly. “He wasn’t even speaking to you.”

“Oh, no.” Taylor tsked softly, stroking Reese’s hair about his temples almost maternally. “Don’t tell me you’re one of the loonies.” She didn’t seem particularly upset by the fact, if so. “Well, no matter. We’ll just strike it up to ‘eccentricity’ and let it go at that.”

“He was speaking to his friend.” Cordelia motioned to her own ear. “On his cell.”

Taylor leaned ever so close, checking out the information provided. She lingered overly long, to Fusco’s way of thinking. “Had me scared there for a second, Angel. ‘Kinky’ I can do but..if it gets too weird, even I have my limits.” Her gaze roamed Reese’s body freely. “Oh, who am I kidding. I’m nuts for you and I don’t care who knows it. Do your worse!” she teased. “I’m your’s for the taking!”

“Who said anything about ‘taking’.” Fusco had his doubts. “Can we get back to the questions?”

From Reese’s point of view, it felt good to have a slight reprieve from all the heavy shit going down in his life of late, so..he encouraged the woman with a slight smile, his eyes anything but censored. 

“David!” Cordelia scolded fitfully. “Someone tried to snap my neck tonight. I think a little more serious tone is in order here, don’t you?”

“You’re serious enough for the both of us, Baby Cakes.” Taylor straightened the front of Reese’s shirt, admiring the dark fuzz of beginning chest hair peeking out of the ‘V’ neck, her fingers gently circling about the crisp curls. She lifted mesmerizing eyes. “Gray is definitely your color, Beloved.”

Reese grinned retroactively, a little flattered by the blatant come-on, for the woman was not only beautiful, she was clearly a class act, dressed far more fashionably than anyone else in the room, which wasn’t saying much, granted, but she would have even looked appropriately classy on Harold Finch’s impeccably attired arm.

“Turn it off, Mr. Reese.” Finch had freshened up, now in the midst of choosing yet another stylish tie, having had enough of the immature exchange. “Throw some cold water on your admirer and get some much needed answers from those two..ladies.”

“You know that procedure never works, Finch.” Reese lifted his tall frame from his chair, gently disengaging himself from the ‘lady’s’ presence. “It is imperative we find out the reason someone wants you both dead.” He tried less tact. “Can you..aid us in our quest?” He directed the inquiry to Taylor Davidivitch, sensing he would get action from that source.

“Oh, baby..I can ‘aid’ you in soooo many ways.” She was game. “What do you mean..someone tried to snap your neck tonight?” Something had filtered through..finally. 

“If it hadn’t been for Mr. Reese..” Cordelia motioned jerkily, tears promised at the least bit of encouragement. “I would not be her..”

“What makes you think anyone wants ME dead?” Taylor ignored her friend’s distress focusing on something more prevalent in her Universe. “Well, if you don’t count most of my so called ‘friends’.” She uncrossed her shapely legs, arising from the arm of Reese’s former seat. “..I was just about to take my evening ‘soak’..in a tub that is more than built for ‘two’..” she made mention to anyone who might be interested in such a tidbit of news. “When this little twerp crashes in my door, flashing his badge around, saying I had to come with him if I intended being around for the next ‘soak’..so here I am, but I haven’t seen ‘hide nor hair’ of any would-be varmits wantin to take my scalp, Cowboy, so..what gives with you two?”

She eyed Reese and Fusco suspiciously.

“Is that a ‘New Yorker’s’ imitation of a ‘Western’ accent?” Fusco shook his head woefully. “Really?”

“Not to mention..she’s mixing her metaphors.” Finch stated. “Inform her, Mr. Reese..if she requires definitive ‘proof’..Detective Fusco can simply return her to her ‘soak.’”

“Is it your time of the month?” Reese was getting a little tiffed at Finch’s mood tonight.

“No.” Taylor answered conspiritously, stepping decidedly close, lowering her voice discretely for once. “..What did you have in mind?”

“Later.” Reese whispered silkily, and..he really did like her perfume. “Neither of you can think of ANY reason why someone would want you out of the picture..none?”

He brought things back on track, sauntering over to the window. He spread the blind with his index finger and thumb, looking out on the silent street. Across the way, the opposite buildings lined neatly on a quiet street. The new apartment design was to imitate the older, more stately homes, such as the one in which they now resided.

The buildings lacked the charm of the old, however. They were bunched together, with little more than a small walkway between, the yards small and cramped even with all the sculpted landscape which now, was faded dull with the on slot of an early winter just around the corner. 

Cordelia chewed the inside of her bottom lip, racking her brain. Taylor Davidivitch looked around for a source of liquor.

“Anything out of the ordinary happened in the past, say..week or so?” Fusco helped out, putting his skills to work. “..Any odd occurrences, maybe even ones that seemed ok at the time, just..a little ‘off’ maybe?” He glanced to a reticent Taylor Davidivitch. “Odd as in, not your everyday routine and for you, that could cover a lot of area, we know.” 

Davidivitch smiled sarcastically over, crossing the soft cushioned rug with it’s delicate rose and vine pattern, coming up behind Reese, leaning over his shoulder to peer out into the night, even as he did, still. He turned his head, sparing a small grin for her but then turned back, his mind clearly preoccupied.

Taylor sighed philosophically, giving her attention over to Detective Fusco, albeit reluctantly.

“The ONLY thing out of the ordinary that happened this week is that ‘Princess Leia’ over there actually delivered her new synopsis on time.” Taylor said. “Oh, honey..do something with your hair.” She requested, crossing to Cordelia who’s hand had gone tentatively to the golden fluff, her face showing genuine concern. “’Wet’ does not become you..not to worry, the Calvary is here.” The woman shooed Cordelia’s hands aside, having come up with a comb from the confides of the enormous purse she had left sitting on the divan earlier.

The girl sat back docilely while Davidivitch fiddled with her the long, damp curls.

“How many times have I told you..” the older woman chastised. “Presentation is everything!”

Cordelia shrugged helplessly. “It was raining.”

“..A new synopsis?” Fusco got things back on track seeing Reese had showed a little interest in the information. “It’s all we got.” He too, shrugged. “What’s this story about? Does it deal with a Congressman’s shady deals, maybe? Military secrets?..an alien invasion?”

“I rather like that ‘Congressman’ thing.” Taylor stopped the comb half way in stride down a section of Cordelia’s hair. “Scandal sells big time.”

Cordelia stretched her hand out, not wanting to disturb Taylor’s activities with her hair, going for the booklet in vain. Fusco saw her difficulties, handing the notebook she had tossed aside when the two women first made contact.

“I’m kinda proud of this storyline, actually.” She sorted rapidly through the thick pad, searching. “I think it has merit. Of course, I’ve only written the outline but it’s coming together pretty…”

“Edit, Baby girl..Edit!” Taylor sighed heavily, piling masses of soft curls on top of Cordelia’s head, securing the lush bundle with pins from her purse, a few of which dangled from the corner of her mouth even now. “Cut to the chase.” She muttered around the clips.

“Thank you.” Finch muttered his gratitude.

If Cordelia Fellows was offended by her publisher’s admonishments, she did not let on. “Oh..ok.” she had found her outline, reading a few lines here and there as she went down the page. “The story is about this guy, a non-descript man..well, not really because I know EXACTLY what he looks like..” she had halted long enough to inform her BFF a very important fact. “Should I say?”

Davidivitch waved her hand expressively to mean.. ‘on with it..on with it, girl..’

“Who invents this incredible machine. A computer that has the ability to spy on the entire world through a network of cameras and listening devices that, really, are already in place. So the military wants to take it over, of course and there is some shady MIB crap that I want to throw in for the ‘bad guy’ organization. Maybe some secret government agency, I haven’t fleshed that out just yet.” Cordelia stopped for a breath.

Fusco watched Reese’s impassible face closely, some instinct telling him that the man had grown too quiet suddenly. The other man had turned back to the room, standing rather indolently, his hands placed before him, laced together, the expensive army watch showing from the cuff of his right sleeve. The steely gaze taking in the room without seeming to do so.

Trying to read that enigmatical expression was like trying to solve the questions of the ages, however, so the detective gave up, returning his interest to the girl.

Cordelia referred back to her notes, happy to have an audience for a read out of her story. “The guy hoped that the machine could predict things like terrorist plots, assassinations..uncover international conspiracies..”

“It’s really ‘1984’ revisited.” Taylor conceded graciously. “But with the correct marketing, we can sell it.”

“It ISN’T ‘1984’!” Cordelia objected..strenuously.

“And you are not George Orwell.” Finch had whispered the words, his voice..strickened. He had even stopped half-loop in fixing his tie. “Mr. Reese…”

“I know.” Reese concurred quietly, sotto voce. 

“Who knows about this 'treatment' other than..the two?”

Finch was..unsettled.

“Have you told anyone else about this?” Reese asked, his tone giving none of his rising nervous tension away.

“I thought the book had promise so I sent it up the food chain, why?” Taylor was savvy enough to pick up on something in Reese’s manner. “What..what is going on here? It’s just a freaking Sci-Fi novel…right?” she dared anyone refute the statement. The silence was more than deafening. “…RIGHT?” It was demanded.

“It’s a rather intriguing plot, that’s all.” Reese replied evenly. 

“Yeah, best seller.” Taylor concurred airily, the large grey eyes swept his body lasciviously. “..Do you dance? With that body, it would be a crime against womanhood everywhere if you didn’t.” She blinked innocently, well..as innocently as she would ever be.

Harold Finch rolled his eyes. 

John Reese chuckled lowly, his head shaking minutely.

Lionel Fusco sighed wearily. “Geesh, get a room already.” He disgusted, walking away.


	4. Wishful Thinking On Freud’s Part…

Harold Finch was out of sorts. Reese had guessed it correctly. Something was amiss in ‘Finch World’.

A feeling..a nagging doubt about..something. Something he could not put his finger upon. An elusive tick that kept getting under his skin like a bad itch he could not reach.

Nothing was exactly wrong, but something in his world was just not right.

He had been experiencing this..restlessness for three weeks now and it was not getting any better, ever since he found out.

He was smart enough to sense the greater jest of the problem and male enough to wish to deny it’s existence.

She was seeing someone else. After two years, it was about time but still..

She was seeing..someone else.

Finch had tried, in the beginning, to be philosophical about the matter. It had to happen sooner or later. Of course it must. She was a beautiful woman. Sweet and kind and good..and beautiful, with that deep auburn hair and big blue eyes that showed her every emotion. She still held the world in awe.

It had taken him months to break through that shy, introverted shell. But, he hadn’t minded the process one bit.

And she had come at just the right time in his life. He had very much needed a break from the hellish routine established over the years. A pace, he himself, had set.

The Machine was built..it was finished. He could afford some down time. He had even gotten out –of-doors that day. For a walk in the park. A stupid thing, he supposed, as it was the dead of winter but the sun was out and it felt wondrous after so long a period of forced confinement.

Well, no one had really forced him..he was happy in his work. Happiest when confronted by an impossible task which required patience, due diligence and..modesty aside, a great deal of intellect in one’s chosen field of endeavor.

Harold Finch knew his virtues but he was also well aware of his many faults. He hoped, one outweighed the other. It was one thing of which he was never really all that certain, however.

He was good at many things but human actions..reactions..interaction, had often left him a little befuddled. But only when his own emotions were interwoven into the equation.

***************************************************

 

** Union Square Park, January 6th. 2009 **

 

He had seen her that fateful morning. She sat on a park bench, sketch pad in hand. He had discretely walked behind her, viewing the drawing. She was a painting, a winterscape..the south section of the park, where the trees were covered with a new layer of fresh snow. In the sunlight, Finch likened the scene to a Currier and Ives print. She did an excellent job with only three hues. Black, dark green and sky blue. She had a good eye..an artistic one. She was a decent artist, but not an exceptionally talented one. 

She also had been shopping, evident by the two small carry-alls filled with colorfully wrapped gift boxes.

Christmas had already passed, so..the bags stumped Harold but his mind had more important things on which to dwell.  
She had to live close by. If his nerve failed him this day, perhaps the fates might grant him another meeting.

He scanned the surrounding buildings. Surely she didn’t carry the small tin of paints about with her everywhere she went, but her purse was like any other woman’s these days..large and cumbersome. 

For all Finch knew, the kitchen sink could be lurking in that thing.

He watched her closely, knowing his window of opportunity was short. It was cold and she would want to be on her way eventually, but fortunately, his mind was quicker.

He did not usually bother with the fairer sex for his work was all consuming and women had a tendency to expect a little more than he could comfortably give in a relationship but..the project was now complete. 

It was a fairly decent day, however, from his prospective, who had been cooped up for so long, in the massive complex needed to create his ‘dream’. Everything seemed fresh and exciting and new again to his overloaded senses.

Impulsively, he purchased something, normally, he would never buy, especially for himself but he was hoping it would not truly be for ‘himself’..well, in the long run.  
He was momentarily thrown by the vendor’s question.. ‘What flavor?’. His perceptive gaze ran the list of what seemed a hundred different varieties of ice cream. “..Vanilla.” he made the decision because he was a decision maker.

The guy looked at him oddly, what with one thousand flavors from which to choose, but the one dip of ‘vanilla’ was reluctantly delivered over. ‘What ever floats your boat, Mister.’

Finch had kept a running check on the woman who looked just about ready to bolt.

She hadn’t noticed him at all but seemed content to observe those around her.

The park was surprisingly full of people coming and going. Shoppers, returning their unwanted items., Harold surmised, for most seemed loaded down with parcels.

Once again, he had missed Christmas this year, and New Year’s Eve last week. He, himself, did not ‘do’ holidays, working diligently through most of them over the past seven years.

Nathan Ingram, his employer and great friend, had often tried to pry Finch away at such times but it was a useless task.

Harold had felt terrible each time Nathan had arrived on scene, stylishly wrapped presents in hand. He was so wrapped up in the project, there seemed no time to break away, even to purchase a dear friend a holiday gift.

‘I..didn’t get you anything.’

‘Your friendship is payment enough..this is just..’ the handsome man had shrugged jovially, presenting his surprise. “my way of saying, I’m so very glad you are in my life..old friend.’

Harold had graciously not refused such kindness but he always felt badly. He could have taken a moment or two, surely..but again, ‘human interaction’..not one of his strong suits..sadly.

He approached her, having sat his mind, which once accomplished, was impossible to switch to the ‘off’ position.

“It’s really quite delicious.” He began without preamble, holding the cone out as a sort of peace offering. “Would you like one?” A strange man, in the park yet..striking up a conversation just out of the blue, as it were, he suddenly felt rather foolish.

So..he tried the truth. “I couldn’t think of anything else and..I wanted rather badly to meet you.”

He hoped the line wasn’t too cliché or corny..or offensive. He hadn’t done this in a very long time.

She was startled, instantly folding her pad shut, intending to leave with her purchases, clearly, gathering her bags hastily. He had flubbed it rather badly, he assumed from her expression. The blue eyes looked him over, a slight frown puckering her forehead. An intelligent forehead, he noted. A quizzical air became her, he thought.

Harold waited patiently, hoping against hope, his infamous mind could come up with something if he just let it do it’s own thing. Would she give him that precious time, though.

She studied him critically, taking in the long winter coat, stylish black loafers and expensive grey slacks showing out from under the knee length garment. Her gaze flicked the grey silk scarf draped around his neck.

“..It’s the middle of winter.” She motioned aimlessly to the cone.

“I would have preferred a hot beverage..chocolate perhaps.” Harold compromised, glancing at his cone as well. “That vendor was too far away.” He indicated a man down the cleared walking path about three hundred meters away, who offered more appropriate wares. Harold shrugged helplessly. “You would have taken your leave.”  
He returned his gaze. “..I couldn’t take the chance.”

The silence was uncomfortable for the man so he filled it. “..Who buys frozen confections this time of year is, admittedly, a total mystery to me.” It had served it’s purpose, so he walked to the nearest trash receptacle, depositing the cone.

“You did.” She pointed out, her eyes shining with amusement, watching him return. 

“A necessity, as I have explained.” He reminded respectfully.

She slowly replaced the bags unto the bench, still undecided, he knew. “Do you often pick up women in the park?”

“..Yes, frequently.” He tried humor but kept a perfectly straight face. “Of course, I usually do not NEED to resort to bribery, what with my charismatic good looks and all.”

A smile. Well worth fishing for, he decided.

“I am ridiculously wealthy as well..just in case that fact might weigh your decision..to have coffee with me?” he moved his entire body in the direction needed, his feet firmly planted into the slush of the path. He sought the small establishment he had passed earlier and hardly noted. “Just there..across the way. Lots of witness..people.” he amended drolly. “Just in case you are still a little wary of odd men in parks who approach you welding ice cream cones.”

“How wealthy?” she boldly spoke up, but then seemed instantly mortified.

“Oh..” he pondered the fact overly long, keeping his tone controlled.. calculating. “I could purchase an island or two were the notion to strike me and isn’t it vulgar..the turn of the conversation.” He allowed her to see the amusement in his eyes. He found he enjoyed looking at her. She was beautiful even in direct sunlight.

“Not at all.” She objected shyly. “A working girl has to plan ahead these days..’working girl’ in the sense, not THAT kind, not that there is anything wrong with such a profession. To each her own, is my motto. Could you buy a plane to fly to these islands..were the notion to strike you?”

“..Yes.” he was hard pressed to hold his smile.

“A big one?” she stepped closer. “Enough to seat..six, say?”

“..Yes.” his eyes twinkled with amusement. The moment lengthened, and for a millisecond, he was lost in those mesmerizing eyes. 

“Well,” she stepped once, extending her gloved hand. She wore a matching tam of soft, white fleece which complimented that red hair to perfection. Her skin was alabaster and sprinkled with tiny freckles. “My name is Grace.”

Harold instantly sought the contact, taking the small appendage in his. His leather gloves swallowed the tiny fingers. “Harold Finch. It’s..VERY nice to make your acquaintance..Ms..?.” He fished openly.

“Grace, will do for now..Harold.” She corrected easily, the amazing eyes examining his features meticulously. “..I could sketch your face. It is very unique.”

“Are you suggesting I should come up and see your etchings…Grace? ” he teased gently, reluctantly having to release her hand for she tugged just enough to suggest he should do so. “I have to warn you. I am not that type of man.” He liked the sound of her name.

“More’s the pity.” She muttered shyly but..he had heard, which produced his first true smile.

“You are an artist..impressive.” he lifted noble brows, holding her gaze willfully, having motioned to her pad.

“A ‘ wanna-be’. At the moment, I make my living illustrating covers for magazines.”

“A lucrative vocation in this town.”

She seemed suddenly ill-at-ease. “My purchases are nonperishable so..” she glanced at her packages by her feet, having difficulty, he sensed, unaccustomed to the situation. “Maybe I will take you up on that offer of coffee. My nose is cold, my feet numb..like you, Mr. Finch…”

“Harold.” He lifted a scolding index finger as a reminder they were now on first name basis.

“Like you..Harold, I foolishly rushed out today in inappropriate footwear.” She showed her lightweight tan boots which set well with the heavy wool of her darker slacks and bright blue overcoat which was cinched snugly at the small waist, showing her shapely figure off to perfection.

Her cheeks had a healthy pink glow, her lips, while rather unremarkable, were perfect for her facial features. 

“I have boots.” He remembered purchasing several pairs over the years. He frowned down at his footwear, stained white now from all the slush and salt of New York City’s street maintenance efforts. “Somewhere.”

“Let us rest our weary feet at a friend’s establishment.” She offered her arm, smiling up at him. “The food isn’t fancy at Marco’s..but the atmosphere is inviting.”

“Do you live in this neighborhood?” he retrieved her packages, she..her pad, which she held close to her chest, and he was only too glad to slip his arm through her’s, allowing her guide him back to the park bench where their encounter had originally began..but..

She cast him a look which reminded him.. “Oh, that’s correct. No personal information is to be exchanged until it has been firmly established that I am not an axe murderer. Forgive my breech in proper etiquette..Grace.” The more he said the name, the more he enjoyed the process.

“A girl can’t be too careful these days..Mr. Finch.”

“I will actually pay you to stop referring to me as..that.”

**************************************************

** The Library October 12th, 2012 **

 

The cell rang jarringly. 

Finch started from his reverie, suddenly all business. “..Yes, Mr. Reese. A problem?”

“A tiny one.” Reese walked the narrow hallway from his room, the one he had taken last night. He hadn’t slept much, only dosing off an hour or so. Fusco had to return to duty so he got the night shift. He was a night person anyway, so, it was fine. “Our Ms. Collins and/or Fellows is in dire need of a change of clothing. She forgot to pack a case last night in the hustle of departure.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” Finch was puzzled. “Go buy her some things. You have your cards.”

“And..who watches the ladies while I’m out?”

Finch then saw the problem. “..Oh.” he was vexed. “Well, can’ t the two women share some clothing? Surely one was circumvent in …”

“One is five ten, one..five four.”

“I see.” Finch didn’t really but he sensed it was supposed to mean something significant. He sighed heavily. “I suppose it’s on me then. We are to stay away from her apartment, correct?” he had learned much from watching Reese over the months they had been together. “Mr. Reese..what exactly will I be purchasing?”

“The usual stuff.” Reese shut the refrigerator door, having secured cream cheese for his bagel. “Oh, and Finch..we’re almost out of coffee.”

“Excuse me?”

“David doesn’t like this brand.” He read the label on the can. “She prefers Colombian.”

“Oh she does, does she.” Finch bristled. “David???”

“Yeah and Fusco says, can we get some doughnuts in house.” Reese enjoyed pushing the man’s buttons, knowing Finch did not like being reduced to the roll of ‘gopher.’.not one bit, if his tone was any criteria by which to judge. “Now, me? I’m happy with whatever is on the shelf but we do have guests now, remember.”

“Guests?” Finch found the word objectionable. “I should not refer to them as such. We offer a safe haven, Mr. Reese..not a five star hotel..with Concierges service.”

“That doesn’t sound like you at all, Mr. Finch.” Reese tsked woefully. “You are usually the consummate host.”

“What does Ms. Fellows need?” Finch snapped irritably.

“Oh, probably a couple pairs of jeans, maybe.” Reese shrugged, pouring his first cup of coffee for the day, crossing to the breakfast table with it’s four wrought iron chairs. The cushions were ecru, the padding lush and comfortable. “Some Tees..she needs shoes, I know. Size six. And undergarments, of course. Your call on those.”

“WHAT?” Finch’s well-breeding slipped considerably. “I..don’t know anything about..those items!”

“Oh, that’s right. You haven’t seen her in person, have you.” Reese found himself enjoying this situation way too much. His tone gave none of his inner glee away, of course. “..We can’t expect her to wear the same thing she came with. It’s not her fault someone is trying to take her out, now, is it? What’s she supposed to do?”

The silence was deafening.

“Most women prefer Victoria’s Secret’s I hear.” Reese turned the screw just a tad. “I like Fredrick’s, myself.”

“There is something terribly wrong with you.” Finch clicked off, staring at the opposite wall for several seconds, gathering his equilibrium.

The cell rang, and Finch clicked his earpiece angrily. “WHAT?”

“She wears size six in jeans..medium in tees…36B in..well, you know.” Reese..smiled wickedly.

“Did you ask her?” Finch asked incredulously. In the few seconds since they clicked off? Surely not.

“No.” Reese’s silver-toned reply came instantly.

“Then..” it confounded Finch. “How do you KNOW?” The man was dumbfounded.

“I’m a guy.” Reese clicked off..then smiled slowly, returning to his steaming cup of coffee. His work here was done.


	5. Old Habits Die Hard…

Reese had watched the sleek auto pull up to the curb. He also watched the street for several minutes. The cars came and went for it was early morning in New York but none seemed overly interested in a middle aged man unloading items from his trunk. The younger man left his perch by the window, going to help out.

Reese opened the heavy door facing, stepping back to allow his colleague to enter the house. “You’re loaded down, Harold.” He took a few of the heavier looking parcels, but his eyes once again, swept the street before closing the entrance.

“I wasn’t followed, Mr. Reese.” Finch said, putting his bags on the divan, removing his gloves and coat slowly for his joints were acting up today. It was clammy and cold outside and since the accident; his body rebelled against such an environment. “You’ve taught me well. I know the routine by now.”

“Habit.” Reese took no offense at the rather churlish attitude displayed. “You do all this shopping by yourself? I’m proud of you, Finch. Stouter men have tried and failed such a mission.”

“I thought about calling Detective Carter for assistance but I couldn’t foist such a menial task off without appearing gauche, not to mention, completely devoid of any sensitivity what-so-ever.”

Reese weathered the ‘look’. Finch somehow considered him at fault in this situation. “You’re a very sensitive guy, Finch..who doesn’t know that?” He rummaged through the bags. “Chocolate AND powered!” he lifted impressed eyes. “Case in point.” He sat the donuts aside, going back to his browsing.

“You said that Ms. Fellows came out of the house with only the clothes on her back, is that correct?” Finch retrieved the larger of the shopping bags he had lain on the sofa.. “I took a chance on the size.”

Reese glanced inside. “A coat.” He smiled up at the man. “You have a good heart, Harold. I forgot all about her needing one.” 

“It’s not exactly balmy breezes out there these days.”

Finch had moved on though, Reese could tell by his detached attitude. The other man was wondering the rooms, rather melancholy now, glancing about, touching things, which signaled a catastrophic meltdown in the emotional department.. for a man like Finch.

“Something wrong, Harold?” 

“I had forgotten I owned this building. At one time,” Finch mused, studying a fragile figurine he had picked up off a nearby shelf, turning the delicate statue over in his hands. “I had considered making it our permanent residence.”

Reese sensed a great sadness behind the enigmatical statement. “It’s a nice place.” Then his mind clicked. “… ‘Our?’..are you talking about Gra..”

Voices traipsed down from above, the sound of footfalls on the carpeted staircase announcing the presence of others which broke the moment, both men giving over their attention to the new arrivals on the scene. Harold replaced the small statue to it’s rightful spot.

Taylor Davidivitch proceeded her friend, rounding the sharp bend in the corridor, her keen eyes taking in the new guy, then transferring her questioning inquiry to John Reese.

Finch stood quietly by, waiting politely for proper introductions.

“I did try to sleep, Davy, really but I kept reliving that horrib..” Cordelia continued the conversation, blissfully unaware of what waited just around the river’s bend.

Finch transferred his interest to the second female, a little curious to see if Ms. Fellows’ interview videos did her justice. She was an attractive woman who he thought conducted herself well in a public venue. He was, however, unprepared for the reaction HE received.

The girl,for she was hardly a ‘woman’, upon second sight, meeting her in the flesh, so to speak, as now..especially when put upside the tall, elegant version standing beside her. The contrast between Taylor Davidivitch and Cordelia Fellows was a striking one.

He took in the grey sweat pants and green tee-shirt with it’s..colorfully expressed colloquialism sprawled across the front. 

The ‘girl’..halted her tirade midsentence, her eyes widening, her mouth falling agape. She stared at Finch in something akin to awe, her gaze transfixed, so much so, Harold became a little uncomfortable under such direct scrutiny. He sought an explanation for such bazaar behavior.

He turned his entire body sideways, well, the top half, his eyes seeking out John Reese.

The man stepped, snapping his fingers in front of Cordelia’s face, “..Ground control to Major Tom.”

Which brought an instant response and decidedly pink flush to the girl’s cheeks. She blinked, finally shifting her gaze, suddenly embarrassed, awkward.

“OH!” she stated breathlessly, acutely aware she was suddenly the center of attention. “I..eh..”

“You ok, sweety?” Davidivitch frowned critically, her anger directed toward Finch, the obvious cause of Cordelia’s distress.

“Y-Yes.” The girl strived desperately for a semblance of decorum. “Yes, of c-course.” She dismissed all the ‘fuss’, still unable to hold Finch’s direct gaze for any real length of time, though. She cleared her throat self-consciously, trying a smile for all concerned. “I didn’t expect anyone else..I’m a little underdressed.” She laughed feebly, knowing the excuse was a piss poor one but the truth was even more ludicrous.

“Finch brought you some things.” Reese smoothed over the tension, his confident, easy tone helping Cordelia to focus on something other than the man standing directly in her line of vision.

“Ohh!” she was genuinely contrite suddenly, forced to confront Finch’s generosity. The awkwardness returned two-fold. “Oh, how..nice of you, Mr. Finch. I..I will reimburse you, of course.” She took the pre-offered bags clumsily. “I do have money..really.”

“He knows that, silly.” Taylor rolled her eyes.

“They are reusable.” Finch thought small talk might put the girl at ease. “The bags. Earth friendly.” Why she was so ill-at-ease, was anyone’s guess. “Reimbursement is not required but a reason to explain the recent attempt on your life would be greatly appreciated.”

“Reese has grilled us enough on that subject. We’ve told you all we know.” Davidivitch’s hostility was partially a protective reaction for her friend who was still pale, distracted and not herself. She blamed the only logical source.. “And just who are you and your little friend here?” she demanded. “We should go to the cops if what you say is happening..is happening. It’s their job to handle things like this, isn’t it?”

“Do you doubt someone is trying to harm your friend?” Finch could be direct as well.

Reese was curious to see how the battle would go, going to fetch more coffee, leaving his boss to do what Finch did best..intimidate people.

“We certainly have no hold over you, Ms. Davidivitch. You are welcome to leave if you truly believe us to be unscrupulous opportunists ‘out to’, in some unbeknownst way, deceive you.” He spoke in that soft, inoffensive tone, in unhurried, measured sentences.

Reese blew on his coffee, remaining silent, taking no sides. It was important both women realize the danger existed.

Davidivitch had spent the night comforting her friend, so she knew something terrible had gone down. Cordelia looked to her for guidance even now. The kid was clearly shook up. Not to dismiss the marks on her body, the bruising, the red, unsightly scratches about her throat which were tangible proof something bad was in the wind.

“..The police are involved.” Harold changed tactics, giving the woman time to calm her temperament, not to mention, a gracious way out. “Not only Detective Fusco, whom you have met but later today, Detective Carter will be standing watch while Mr. Reese and myself delve a little deeper into the particulars of the case.”

Taylor was still undecided, clearly.

“Our methods net faster results.” Harold made their case. “Mr. Reese is a very capable individual. The fact we are not constrained by official rules and regulations, as the police, allow us to operate in ways more efficiently productive for..people like you and Ms.Fellows.”

“People like ‘us’.” Taylor repeated, cocking her head to one side. “Just how many of ‘us’ are out here floating around? It’s your job to save our asses from the bad guys? What do YOU get out of it all?”

“The realization that good people aren’t harmed by..” Harold’s steady gaze was an unflinching one, holding Taylor’s willfully. “..The ‘bad guy’s, and also.” He considered the question overly long. “We like to think we’re doing something right and decent for those who find themselves..overwhelmed by life’s unexpected twists and turns.”

“Altruistic to a fault, hum?”

“Such people exist, Madame.” Harold’s patience was waning. “Perhaps not in the circles in which you frequent. Think of me as a bored, rich guy with too much time on his hands.” He smiled pleasantly to soften the insult. “But, again..as I said. If it’s the police you wish, Mr. Reese will drive you to the nearest precinct.” He glanced at Cordelia Fellows. “Free of charge, of course.”

Reese was consulted. “You’re the boss.”

“..Mr. Finch.” Cordelia stepped forward timidly, addressing the man hesitantly. “..Davy is just looking out for me. She doesn’t mean any..thing.”

“Don’t I?” the woman chafed a tad, her pride stung by what she considered Finch’s superior attitude.

Cordelia laid a shaky hand on the other woman’s arm, her green eyes beseeching Taylor. “..They are trying to help us.”

“We don’t KNOW these guys, Delia!” Taylor snapped the obvious.

“I know Mr. Reese risked his own life last night and..he didn’t have to do that, Taylor.” Cordelia turned back to Finch. “Mr. Finch, I don’t know what’s happening but..I’m scared..really..REALLY scared. Can you make this all stop?”

“Yes.” Finch’s tone and manner softened somewhat. “We certainly can, Ms. Fellows..absolutely. We have no ulterior motives, I assure you. Please feel free to check on Detective Fusco and Carter’s credentials.” He motioned to the phone on the bar. “You are safe with Mr. Reese and eventually we will figure out what is wrong with this scenario and you will have your lives back. I promise you.” He inclined his head minutely. “You have my word.”

“Which you can take to the bank, ladies..any bank.” Reese shifted a warning glance. “And you, trouble maker..draw in your claws..I like you better all soft and sassy.”

Finch lifted a brow but allowed his colleague to work his magic with the other woman who already seemed in a better mood suddenly, smiling coyly at Reese.

“Where’s my coffee, Tall Guy?” Taylor asked, going to search in the newly arrived bags. “any Colombian in her..OHH!” she produced the canister. “There IS a god.” She sought out the Sunbeam brewmaster , pouring Reese’s thick, dark liquid into a cup, for that is all there was left. “Eww..how can you drink that stuff. It looks like mud warmed over.”

Cordelia seemed settle a little as well, but she still had difficulty meeting Finch’s direct gaze. “..You both are very kind, I’m..not sure we can ever repay you for..” she seemed lost on how to finish such a sentence. She lifted troubled eyes. “This is insane, Mr. Reese..why is someone..why did that man..”

Reese put his cup aside, his hand covering her cold one. “Stop worrying now. I’ve got it covered.” He lowered his head, bending, for he was very much taller than she and her long hair had fallen forward, obscuring her face. She fiddled nervously with her graduation ring. He fished for a smile, grey/blue eyes connecting with emerald ones. “Ok?”

Cordelia smiled wistfully. “I trust you, Mr. Reese.”

“Yeah,well, that sweet talk won’t work on me, Oh, Caped Crusader.” Taylor too,had watched the scene unfold, waiting now, for her coffee to brew, leaning her shapely form against the kitchen counter top, arms folded, her expression, wry. “Take something a lot stronger..”

“Like Colombian coffee?” Reese never backed down from a challenge.

“Scotch.” Davidvitch corrected evenly. “But coffee will do in a pinch.” She went to secure a cup of the aromatic blend, too tempting to ignore. She gave Finch a look on her way to the cupboard.

“..You are the ‘other man’.” Cordelia tried a smile bringing Harold back from his mental sparring with Davidivitch. He could feel the younger woman’s stare throughout the entire exchange between Reese and her friend.

“Excuse me?” Harold was momentarily lost.

“On the other end of the cell.” She motioned to John Reese, clearly attempting to revise the first impression she gave. “Mr. Reese referred to you a few times.. ‘Finch’.” She smiled again, softly. “It’s kinda weird, what you two do, I mean. Nice.” She corrected hastily. “..Amazing, actually but..” she let it go as Finch didn’t seem disposed to pursue the subject any further. “Do you..work for the government?” 

“No.” Finch sat the record straight on that one quickly enough. “And you, Ms. Fellows..what is it YOU ‘do’?” Something in his tone told her he already knew and was not overly impressed.

Reese noted how efficiently Harold turned the tables on the young girl, for he knew Finch was well aware of almost every aspect of the woman’s life by now.

“Oh, I..” Cordelia was suddenly embarrassed to say. “I.. write a little, Mr. Finch but the things which interest people today could, in no way, pass for true literature, believe me.”

“I do.” Finch..did. “John?” he motioned the other man over. “If you will excuse us for a moment, Ms. Fellows?”

“Don’t let us keep you.” Taylor had heard the exchange, upset for Cordelia. “You know? She probably has made more money in her short existence than you will ever see, buddy. Don’t look down your nose at..”

“No, Davy.” Cordelia laughed self-consciously. “He didn’t mean that..” she dismissed airily. “Let’s face it. I am not Tolstoy..heck, I’m not even Jackie Collins..by no means. Reality check here.” She chuckled again to ease the growing tension. “Is that coffee for everyone or are you going to horde it all for yourself.”

Reese followed his employer dutifully with a soft, “Ladies.” Finch made for the living room front windows, a safe enough distance to speak without being overheard. Once out of earshot, he offered an opinion. “Little hard on them, weren’t you?”

Finch simply looked at him then..continued their trek.

Cordelia crossed, coming around the bar area slowly, her eyes on the two men.

“That guy chaps my hide.” Taylor shook her head, obviously more than tiffed. “Who does he think he..”

“That’s HIM!” Cordelia whispered urgently, checking on the whereabouts of the men. 

Taylor was stunned. “Him?? The guy who tried to…I thought you said he was dead..”

“No..not HIM…” Cordelia was frustrated. “In my book..that’s him. Right down to the limp. It’s like someone extracted him from my brain and just..”

Taylor held up a restrictive hand. “Wait, slow it down.” She advised. “Take a breath.” She waited for Cordelia to calm a little. “The guy in your book..” she checked on Finch. He and Reese were deep within some secretive tete-a-tete. “HE’S the geek? That’s how you pictured him?” she scoffed. “No way! No freakin way. He’s tall with a beard and..”

“I never said anything about a beard! And I’ve said he is average height.” Cordelia was agast. “Did you even READ the..”

“Well..the reader sees what they want to see. And that guy?” Taylor was certain. “Is NOT your main character. I refuse to allow it.”

“You don’t GET it.” Cordelia seemed frantic she should. “It IS him. I..I must have seen him somewhere and..my subconscious transferred the image to..” she shook her head, dumbfounded. “That’s impossible. I’ve never seen him before in my life and yet..I even imagined the ..the..old-fashioned side burns.” The woman was distraught, her tone conveying the stress she was under. “The glasses..who do you know today that wears those things? I tell you, Davy..I swear to GOD.. THAT..is exactly who I had in mind for Garrison Starling.”

“A stupid name anyway.”

“I like it.” Cordelia pouted, then gasped a little mew. “STOP looking at him!” she hissed anxiously. She turned completely around, her back to Reese and Finch. “They will know we are speaking about them.”

Finch scowled, sensing he was the topic of conversation between the two females. Fellows tried not to let on but the other one..she stared a hold through him and didn’t care who noted the fact.

“Oh, stop freaking.” Taylor advised calmly. “It’s nothing more than a coincidence. You’re just shaken from last night. You’re a writer, it’s only natural your mind would create..”

“You know I know my characters inside and out..you KNOW I do!” Cordelia shook her long hair. “The vest..the weird tie..it’s like he’s come to life and is standing right before my very eyes! This is not right, Taylor! Something is very wrong here. You even said, last night..how you thought you knew Mr. Reese from somewhere else too..remember?” She reasoned where no reason existed. “You said that and I know this other guy. That can’t be a coincidence..can it?”

“I remembered where I saw Reese.” Taylor sighed heavily. “There is nothing supernatural or uncanny involved here. He just looks like someone, that’s all.”

“Who?” Cordelia demanded. “You’re just saying that to shut me ..”

“No, I am not.” Taylor denied. “I just don’t want to say it because..it’s stupid, that’s all.”

“..What?” Cordelia settled, sensing the other woman was telling the truth. She could always tell, after all. “Who does he resemble..tell me.”

“You better not laugh.” Taylor set her ‘you better not laugh’ face.

“I won’t.” Cordelia took offense. “Who?”

Taylor grimaced, hesitating, then shot Reese a very old-fashioned look. “…He’s the Nazi guy in Schindler’s List.”

Cordelia processed. “…Ralph Fiennes?”

“Whatever.” Taylor wasn’t into actor’s names. She wasn’t really into show people at all..especially those that came off Broadway. “Not so much the ‘English Patient’ Fiennes..” she conceded. “ I think Reese is darker than that.”

“You’re crazy.” Cordelia sighed. “You know that?”

“Oh, this coming from the person that thinks her characters are coming to life and jumping off the page.”

Cordelia had the grace to be bothered. “When you..put it like that.” She muttered.

Taylor shook the entire conversation. “Here..have some coffee..you’ll feel more like yourself after a hot shower and some food.” She was certain. “Coffee is manna from the Gods, don’t be disrespectful.”

Fellows nodded good-naturedly. “I guess stress can make you do silly things. Maybe you’re right. Maybe all I need is a good night’s rest.”

“And lots of valium.”

Cordelia chuckled wistfully. “Thank god for prescription drugs, where would this country be without them.”

“In the tank, girl..in the tank.”

Finch was relieved to see the women disappear into the kitchen area. “..Why does that woman continuously stare at me?” he demanded an explanation. “Doesn’t she realize how very rude that is?”

“Yeah, something’s up with that.” Reese didn’t deny the accusation, having checked on the women as well. “You threw her..when she first saw you. Do you know her from somewhere?”

“We hardly move in the same circles.”

“A party, maybe..a fundraiser?” Reese’s sense of humor came to the fore. “A book signing?” he asked all too innocently.

“Very amusing, Mr. Reese.” Finch was not amused, contrary to his statement. “I have never even skimmed one of those vile romance adventures, let alone, read one.”

“Not even page 146 of the ‘Highland Slut?’?” Reese seemed acutely disappointed. “Don’t know what you’re missing, Finch.”

The man rubbed his eyes wearily. “I did not get much rest last night. While you are taxing most days, this particular one, I find you singularly irritating, Mr. Reese, if I may say so.” He lifted a cool stare.

“It’s still a free country.” Reese shrugged, pleased he had gotten a rise out of the other man. So few could ruffle that unflappable ‘cool’ Finch usually exuded, after all.

“Detective Carter was able to retrieve the contents of Ms. Fellows juvenile file.” Harold turned to business, glancing out the huge windows by which they stood, his eyes following the path of an elderly woman walking her dog down the opposite side of the street. “Sadly, it was not as I first imagined..several accounts of domestic violence. Apparently Ms. Fellow’s father abused her mother. The child was remanded to the Foster System from a very early age. Her mother was subsequently killed in a murderous rage..by her father, of course..which is the way of most such cases, as you know. Ms. Fellows was twelve at the time. And these women want protection from..the police.”

Reese sought out the woman. She sat, conversing with her friend, sipping coffee and nibbling on a powdered donut.

“The System lost track of her around the age of fourteen..she surfaced at age twenty-one, becoming the youngest novelist to have a book appear on the New York Times best seller list. A dubious honor but still.” Finch spared Cordelia a glance. “I traced her credentials, none of which can be verified from the actual annuals of the colleges listed.”

“She lied about her schooling?” Reese was amused and a little intrigued. “Surely someone would have called such a thing into question by now.”

“Good PR for an academic society would mean added revue for the school’s enrollment fund.” Finch shrugged. “To have produced a best selling author is a rather prestigious coup..besides, records get lost in transfer if one is creative enough.”

“Who really checks into that stuff anyway, except…” Reese’s blue eyes slowly shifted to..

“It’s my job, Mr. Reese.” Finch reminded peevishly. “I suggest you be about your’s. One more thing..I sent Detective Carter to investigate our dead body in Ms. Fellow’s apartment. Seems, although there was a sign of a struggle..no corpse was on-hand when our diligent police officers showed.”

“A clean-up..that was quick.” Reese lifted impressed brows. “We’re dealing with professionals here. Which means I must revise my approach and..game plan.”

Finch nodded gravely. “Indeed.” He moved slightly, signifying the ‘meeting’ was at an end. “..I have another avenue to explore. Ms. Davidivitch mentioned she had sent the treatment for the novel up the proverbial food chain. I’m curious to see just whom was privy to those documents and how they might be connected to our old antagonist..the Consortium connected to my Machine.”

“Could be something less sinister than the NSA...simple greed..avarice.” Reese didn’t hold out much hope for that though.

“I rather hope your hypothesis is correct but we cannot afford to leave any stone unturned.” Finch took a moment to really look at their current Person Of Interest. “She’s very young, isn’t she..case in point..her choice of nightwear.” Finch once again read the cryptic message on Cordelia’s teeshirt.

“My ‘voices’ share the same sentiments..only now..” Reese stated quietly. “I rarely ‘shoot’ to kill any longer.”

Harold nodded slowly. “I’m glad to hear it,..John.” For the first time in weeks..Harold felt like his old self for a brief moment. “I truly am.” He moved off, securing his coat and gloves. Reese watched him exit the heavy entrance doors.


	6. My Kind Of Town…

John Reese stepped down the stately stairs, glancing up to the majestic architecture of St. Patrick’s Cathedral directly behind him. He had cloned Thomas Cain’s phone hours earlier and knew a planned meeting was arranged in a few minutes across the street at the Palace.

He could see the mosaic circle of reds, blues and white which signaled the entrance of the posh hotel. An eight foot wrought iron fence protected the lush landscaped façade from any would-be invaders. To enter such hallowed halls, one must have made reservations back when Columbus discovered Manhattan.

History was not one of Reese’s strong points. He had visited enough countries that he could conduct a lecture of two on geography but history? It was in the past and he was a sort of..’move on from here’, kinda guy.

A sleek, dark blue limo whizzed by the busy street. Madison and 50th. Right around the corner from Saks. Which reminded him, he needed a couple of new suits..and maybe even a tie. He was getting a little self-conscious when standing beside Harold Finch of late. The other man was always impeccably attired.

“The packages have arrived.” He wandered the heavily packed sidewalk, across the opposite side from the hotel, a monstrosity that rose twenty-one stories high. Reese glanced up but the sun was directly overhead so he gave that notion up quickly enough, even though he sported his best ray bans today. 

He waited patiently, having found a safe little nook from which to watch the people unload from the spanking brand new Lexus which had pulled up to the curb.. The car had been freshly washed and shined to perfection. Reese could see the reflection of the other cars that drove by, especially the yellow city taxis.

A few tables were still sit out in front of the steps that led to the Palace’s entrance. Massive glass doors with a delicate design of birds, flowers and a garden scene welcomed the elite.

Two sprawling trees sat guard in decorative urns on either side of the opened gates, a doorman greeted arrivals and ushered them graciously into the portals awaiting.

“Harper and Cain is an old established company. One of the top three publishers in the country, the entire world, I dare say.” Finch walked the length of the board he used to track their cases. A photo of Cordelia Fellows and Taylor Davidivitch held center stage. “Amelia Harper, CEO, earned her position the old-fashioned way..” Finch added yet another photo. A pretty woman of about thirty, dark hair, piercing blue eyes.

“I like her already.” There wasn’t much not to like, the woman exiting the auto was lovely, indeed. A small, petite brunette with enough attitude that Reese could feel the impact from clear across the street. The look she gave the chauffeur could have wilted icebergs. The guy was a little lax in opening the door for her. ‘or maybe not’.. he mused. He had never liked pushy women..or unnecessarily rude ones.

“No, Mr. Reese..she ‘inherited’ it.”

“Oh.” The man shrugged, adjusting his earpiece.

“Her father, the late Lucius Harper, started in steel, back in the Forties, branching out into shipping, then turned to his interest to real estate.” Finch made his way back to his desk to secure other photos. “Not so much here but he has several major holding on the West Coast..California and Washington, plus he holds the majority of stock in two major Las Vegas casinos.”

“Is he as rich you, Mr. Finch..which reminds me. Can I have a raise?”

“No…to both inquires.” Finch pasted another picture onto the board. “I can’t find anything out of the norm in the financials of the company but if there is something to find, it would be covered well. It will take time to ferret it out.”

Reese watched his marks, unfolding a piece of spearmint gum. He walked leisurely over, depositing the wrapper in a convenient trash receptacle. They dotted the landscape as far as the eye could see up and down both sides of the street. New York was determined to clean up it’s image..in more ways than one.

“Thomas Cain bought into the company a few years back. Richard Harper had run the business into the red. Cain’s money saved it from bankruptcy. Ms. Harper took the helm, at which time, her eldest brother stepped aside.. the stock began a steady climb.”

“Good business head?”

“Change of policy.” Finch returned to his desk for yet another photo. They had arrived moments ago, sent by Reese’s camera phone. “Whether good or bad, is one’s own personal taste, I suppose. Harper’s prided itself on the quality of it’s offerings, selecting only the best and brightest novelists around.”

“So dear old Amelia gave the go-ahead for the slutty novels, hum.” Reese watched the woman more closely. She backed up, her body language saying, someone important..even more important than herself..was about to emerge from the car. “The bain of Harold Finch’s existence.”

“It is not the romance to which I object.” Harold put the record straight. “I am no prude. It is simply that writers today have become lazy and complacent. They ‘settle’ for the mundane, not to mention..American readers’ tastes are not only objectionable but rather immature when placed beside the rest of the world and why we are discussing this subject is a total mystery to me.”

“One man’s ‘trash’..is another’s treasure.” Reese reminded. “Another photo on it’s way. There’s some old guy emerging from the car.” The camera clicked silently. The man hit the send button.

“Ms. Fellows has the ability to be a good writer..she chooses to churn out these ridiculous diatribes when she could apply herself, thereby..”

“So you have read her work.”

“…I merely read one or two of the more descriptive passages, which alone gave proof to her underlying talent.”

“Page 146 was pretty ‘descriptive’ as I recall.” Reese leaned back onto the cold wall of the Cathedral’s side entrance. “Who’s the old codger?”

“Justin Bertineau, Financier and Philanthropist, of the Massachetts’ ‘Bertineaus’. An old established family.” Finch had run the face recognition program on his system.

“Oh, THOSE Bertineaus.”

The three gathered, walking abreast to the gates of the hotel “I think you will find this establishment acceptable, Justin.” Amelia had taken the older man’s arm and matched her steps to his slower gait. 

“I enjoy a good wine, Amelia but we have more pressing matters to discuss.” She was chastised. “I dislike having to leave ‘Angel’s Lair’. You should have closed this deal by now.”

“There is an unknown factor.” She explained with a deep sigh. “He came out of nowhere. We have it under control, I assure you.”

“Then what am I doing here?” the guy was too shrewd, he wasn’t buying it, not even from a beautiful woman like Amelia. “You do know their where-a-bouts at least?”

“We had a tracer on the subject but it was left in the apartment.” The woman had pulled up short, the entrance to the hotel was just meters away. Such a conversation should not be privy to listeners. “The main directive never deviates from established routine..”

“You two plotting the over-throw of a third world country?” Thomas Cain had finally clicked off his cell, having caught up with his party. “I’m in.”

“All we would really need is your money, Darling.” Amelia was at her best when bitchy. “Justin and I will handle the messy part..as usual.”

“Meow.” Cain smiled pleasantly. “I…didn’t botch the ‘messy part’ in this operation, Pet..YOU did.”

“Enough.” Bertineau put an end to the squabbling. “We are drawing attention.” He motioned with his head and they continued on into the building, assisted by the ever ready doorman.

“You’ve managed to make a nuisance of yourself, John.” Finch smiled ever so slightly. “How gauche of you.”

“Tact was never my strong point.” Reese admitted, his eyes never having left the trio now entering the building across the street. He sauntered forward, weaving his way between the stalled traffic of a busy weekday lunch hour rush.

The doorman smiled politely, sweeping the heavy door wide, as the man entered the warmer atmosphere of the restaurant. It was filled to capacity with it’s many affluent customers mingling and talking in low, respectfully polite conversation. John removed his heavy coat, folding it over his arm.

He spotted his quarry being escorted to a table on the far left, clearly a more distinctive section where the wealthy and powerful gathered.

“Sir..” the Maitre’d had noted Reese, a serious frown fixed upon the man’s rather austere features, even though a sincere, polite smile was fixed and secure as he took Reese aside discretely. A party of several high-classed business women were ahead of the tall man who was suddenly the center of their attention.

Reese smiled ..politely..at both the ladies and the greeter guy. “A problem?” he asked quietly.

“I am soooo sorry, Sir but..” the ‘guy’ leaned closer and Reese could smell the expensive cologne he over-used. He offered a sincere grimace, discretely..lowering his voice. “Our establishment requires proper dress.” The guy looked pained. “..A tie?”

Reese glanced at his suit even as the other man had.

“I told you.” Finch nodded sagely. “New York is a happening kind of town, Mr. Reese. One should always come prepared.”

“James..” the obvious ‘leader’ of the pack of women, eyed Reese lasciviously, as did her counterpoints. “Don’t be so stuffy.” Her gaze swept Reese from top to bottom, slowly..savoringly. “We need a little..fresh blood in this place.”

“Nothing what-so-ever ‘wrong’ with his mode of ‘dress’ to my way of thinking.” Another petite blonde added coyly, smiling happily at John.

“He looks rather scrupulous to me..tie or no tie.” The taller blonde chimed in. “Shirt or no shirt…” the woman placed her thumb to her lips, biting her well manicured nail, offering a rather flirtatious grin.

“Slacks or no slacks.” The first added sotto voce, which brought a round of snickers and shared complimentary smiles all around.

Reese felt like he was standing naked in a display case..he kinda liked the feeling. The women smiled sweetly at him and he..smiled right back, holding their eyes easily. “Ladies..you’ll have me blushing soon.”

He ignored the rather snarky snort of derision from Harold Finch at that remark.

‘James’ sighed lightly, bowing to the majority rule. He walked back to the greeter stand producing a light blue tie with small geometric designs down the middle, which he handed over willingly. “If I may be so bold, Sir.” The tie complimented Reese’s darker blue shirt to perfection.

The ladies admired him while he placed the object about his neck. “..How can I repay such—kindness, ladies?” he wasn’t sure that was the exact word he sought but it worked for him. He finished with his wardrobe malfunction, situating the knot of the tie perfectly just under his freshly shaved throat area. 

“Join us for lunch.” Was the rather well received suggestion offered up by the darker haired, older female to his right. They had surrounded him like a pack of valley girls fighting over the last pair of Jimmy Choos.

“As delightful as that sounds, I regretfully..” Reese managed to appear ‘regretful’ which he was, in truth. “Must meet a business associate in a very short time. It would be my honor to take care of your …”

“Needs?” The small blonde slipped her hand about his bicep, her clear brown eyes issuing an invitation. One that any man would be a fool to refuse. 

“That is her version of ‘foreplay’.” One of the blonde’s friends laughed gaily. “Buy us lunch, and we’ll call it even.”

“Like hell..I want his number.”

Reese smiled contentedly. “Would this suffice?” he handed an richly embossed signature card over. The woman looked at it, holding it close to her breast, smiling wickedly over at him. 

“Only if you answer your calls.”

“Try me.” He smiled, walking away. “Put their tab on my bill.” He made mention, motioning to the bar area. He made his way across the dining area, sparing the women several admiring glances as he went.

Reese checked on Amelia Harper’s group as he passed.

“You lucked out.” Finch shook his head obtusely, rejoining the conversation. He had patiently sat, listening. “Purchase a few ties for God’s sake. Would it kill you?”

Reese seated himself at the far end of the bar, away from customers, with a good advantage point for discretely watching his prey. “Whiskey, straight up.” He ordered absently, for the bar tender had nodded toward him.

Justin Bertineau had waited until the server had vacated their table. “I cannot stress enough, the importance of this matter being closed as soon as humanly possible.” He began without preamble. “There is no room for error. If you cannot do the job, I will assign someone more capab..”

“We can do the job.” Thomas Cain assured the man in no uncertain terms. “There is no question to that. I do question the logic and necessity of eliminating two very high-profile targets who will undoubtedly be missed..the incident, investigated. Which draws unwarranted attention, Justin. Something you have always abhorred.”

“That shall be my concern.” The old man snapped. “I want results by tomorrow night. Is it understood?”

“Of course, Justin.” Amelia soothed expertly. “When have we failed you?”

“This had best not be the first time.” Bertineau was not appeased. . or waylaid. “Make the problem disappear. It is that simple.”

Thomas Cain nodded. Amelia smiled tightly, both tense..on edge. “We will report to you when it is finished. Relax now and enjoy your meal.”

“Yes, put the matter from your mind.” Thomas advised airily, situating his napkin delicately. “Consider it over and done.”

“I shall.” The old man’s shrewd eyes observed the two warily. “When that time arrives..and not one second before.”

“..May I ask..” Thomas Cain did not get to where he was by being timid. “What it is the targets have done to warrant all this uproar?”

“No” Justin Bertineau’s gaze turned to ice. “You may not.”

The matter was dropped agreeably. “..Then..may I, at least..choose an appropriate wine?” 

The tension seemed to ease and the meal proceeded in amiable enough good will. 

Reese sipped his drink absently, the aromatic liquid sliding down his throat like hot silk. “..Remember Henry Peck, Finch?”

“All he did was ask a few questions about the Machine.” Finch followed the man’s line of thought. “Ms. Fellows is bringing it to vivid life in print for all to consider.”

“Still think I’m paranoid?” Reese quipped.

“I know you are..never said it was a bad thing.” Finch sat back in his chair, thoughtfully reposed. “Bertineau isn’t supposed to be privy to the knowledge shared by the Committee which oversees the project. But, clearly..he is aware of it’s existence.”

Reese listened attentively.

“I cannot believe any of those in the know would leak the information to others.” Finch had to believe that. “The people to which the information was entrusted were reliable and trustworthy.”

“Tell that to Henry Peck.” Reese smiled once again, having caught one of the former women’s eye who had gotten him into the restaurant before. He raised his glass in mock salute. The woman waved his business card then placed it between the cleft of her breast, tucking it down into the fragrant valley securely. His smile grew, and he lifted approving brows, but his mind was focused and direct. “Your NSA guy, good old Ted Gibbons wasn’t so trustworthy..he tried to have Peck eliminated.”

“They truly believe they are protecting the United States..it’s people. The greater good, John.” Finch defended the Committee’s position as best he was able. “You, of all people, know..the world cannot be viewed in terms of black and white. At times, difficult decisions must be made in order to maintain a semblance of control..good verses evil.”

“They try to make it complicated, Finch.” There was a bitter irony to Reese’s voice. “But the reality of it is..it comes down to the right decision..or the wrong. It’s really quite simple.”

“You are not that naïve.” Finch knew for certain.

“And you..Harold.” Reese also knew a few ‘truths’. “Are not that jaded.”

Each man halted the debate, the cell at the table ringing merrily. Bertineau checked the number, arising fluidly. “I must take this.” He excused himself, walking to the privacy of a secluded section of the darkly draped corridor which led to the bathrooms.

“We don’t have ears?” Finch had sat up immediately, adjusting his computer to ‘receive’ mode but..nothing happened.

“It’s blocked.” Reese had tried to clone the cell but the effort had failed.

“Shouldn’t we tell him?” Amelia’s tone was anxious, tense. She had leaned close to Thomas Cain to confer, both watching the old man closely, as he walked through the restaurant.

“No! Let him think the worse.” Cain advised tersely. “It will look all that more impressive when we ‘solve the problem’.” He ‘quoted’ with his fingers.

“But he thinks we’re idiots.” Amelia pointed out the obvious. “That we haven’t got a back-up plan in place.”

“Let him think it.” Cain scoffed, a sound escaping his throat. “When we complete our part of the bargain, he will be proven wrong. He is a dying breed, Amelia..” there was a measure of contempt in the man’s tone. “It’s time our kind was noticed and appreciated by those in power. Besides..it does the soul good..to be wrong on occasion.” He grinned, touching her cheek lovingly. “Not that I ever am.”

“What if she doesn’t activate it?” Amelia was still wary of Justin Bertineau’s presence. The old man seemed totally absorbed in his call, however, his face taut, etched with tension.

“It is like an extension of her being..of course she will activate it.” Cain dismissed the concept. “We have tested it time and again..it always connects.” He waved his hand about. “Sooner or later, we will have their location. They have her secluded away. She needs quiet time. Give it a while yet. Be patient.”

“What about the other one though..what if they aren’t together?”

“Our friend is very persuasive..he will get her to talk.”

“I don’t like him. Thomas.” Amelia shivered involuntarily. “He gives me the creeps.”

“That is his job, Precious.” Thomas laughed lowly. “It is the nature of the beast. One must associate with such creatures at times. It is a necessary evil.”

“Perhaps he can deal with this new fly in the ointment.” Amelia gave credence to the idea. “What does he want..who is he?”

“My point exactly.” Cain was calculating, if nothing else. “The old man is into something heavy and I want my share of the pie. We have earned it..we deserve it.”

“Whatever is going on, it’s causing a big ripple in the upper echelons. We play our cards right..and maybe we’ll finally get the ‘in’ we’ve been searching for.” Amelia was excited now..and happier.

She sat back, smiling brightly for Justin Bertineau who was making his way back to the table.

Reese’s eyes had hardened perceptively. He turned his back on the table, sipping his drink absently.

“Activate what?” Finch demanded. Ramrod straight in his chair now. “They have a tracking device on one of the women. Am I correct in this assumption, John?”

“I didn’t pick up anything in the car when we came over..it could be with Davidivitch.”

“No..I swept the house when I arrived.. earlier, remember?” Finch shook his head negatively. “Nothing showed on my device at that time either.”

“They said.. ‘she will activate it.’” Reese was racking his brain. “It’s turned off. That’s why we can’t find the trace.”

He ‘activated’ his own device, beginning a three way connection between Finch and himself and.. “…Carter..” he had waited for the beautiful black woman to answer. He explained the problem in concise, short terms.

Carter listened then acted. “Ladies..” she had been walking through the living area, conferring with John Reese on the new problem. She confronted the two, who were at the kitchen nook, preparing their lunch. 

Carter immediately turned the washer on, motioning accordingly. “there’s a problem.”

“We need to move them, Finch.” Reese stated the obvious, arising from the bar stool. “We have everything we need from our good friends here. I’ll meet you at the safe house.”

“On my way, John.” Indeed, the man was gathering his things even as he spoke.

Detective Carter left her earpiece on, for she could hear the activities of the two men as they made their way to their separate modes of transportation. She had her own priorities.

“Ms. Davidivitch..” Carter focused on the older woman, hoping to set an example. “If you will empty the contents of your purse here on the table?” 

Davidivitch stood, a knife and jar of mayo in her hand. Cordelia had come around the small bar, her hands full of lettuce and a loaf of artisan bread. Both looked at Carter like she had a screw loose.

“All your clothes..go in here, please..quickly.” Carter pointed to the washer that was half full already.

Finch and Reese could hear the water spewing into the tub.

“Excuse me?” Davidivitch’s face was incredulous.

“You want them to find you?” Carter put it on the line. “They bugged one of you..the only sure fire way to find it is a thorough search..then we make sure it’s components are compromised.” She jerked her head to the machine.

Cordelia was already pulling her tee over her head, shimmying out of her sweats. She threw the clothes into the water, struggling with the snaps of her bra.

“It’s probably very small. You wouldn’t have noticed it.” Carter explained, rummaging rapidly through the items in Davidivitch’s purse. “Could be the hem of your clothing..bottom of your shoe tread. Did anyone give you an unexpected gift of late..” she checked with the women. “A piece of jewelry?”

“You’ve read one too many spy novels, Detective.” Taylor was certain.

Carter checked the lining of the expensive purse. “This is a very real threat, Ma’am.” She snapped her pique. “I suggest you take it very seriously..your clothes, please!” her tone altered, as did her expression. “NOW!” she pointed to the machine..emphatically.

Davidivitch sighed heavily but..reluctantly began to disrobe.

Carter hear an annoying crackle as her connection peaked to life, the totally male chuckle jangling her nerves pleasantly.

“I like the way you think, Carter.” John was approving of the turn of events, holding his ear piece very much closer suddenly. He drove effortlessly, maneuvering his powerful automobile in and out of the hectic traffic of a busy New York afternoon.

“And your cell.” Carter demanded, ignoring the man and his ‘tone’.

The woman balked. “Over my dead body!” she objected most strenuously.

Carter pulled her weapon, holding it out to her side. “Your call.” Her expression was beyond ‘no-nonsense’, the dark eyes steadily trained on the other woman.

Davidivitch’s mouth tightened but she stalked angrily over to the washer..kissed her beloved cell ‘goodbye’ dropping it into the washer with a definite ‘cringe’. “Your little friend is going to reimburse me for that! It cost a bundle!”

“That is the least of your worries, Miss.” Carter reminded, replacing her weapon. “Your clothes..I won’t ask again.”

Davidivitch threw up her hand. “What EVER!” she snapped, taking her anger out on her clothing as she pulled them off.

Cordelia was standing, nude..in the center of the dining room floor, looking lost and confused.

“The coat.” Carter had seen the new garment with it’s fresh tags. “Use that.”

Cordelia was glad to have the cover, hurriedly slipping into the warmth of the long, calf-length apparel, pulling the belt snuggle about her small waist, tying it securely shut about her body.

Carter searched in vain for something to cover the other woman, her eyes landing on the cashmere throw on the back of a living room chair. She stepped offering the drape to Davidivitch.

“I’m not shy, Honey.” Was the sarcastic response.

John Reese held his smile, pulling into a space behind a speeding Ford pick-up, taking the off-ramp to the South side of town.

“You’ll be a little ‘chilly’ though…Sweety.” Carter stated succinctly. “We’ll be moving out soon.”

“I have a coat upstai…” Davidivitch halted, realizing the dilemma imposed. “..Shit.” She threw the throw over her shoulders.

“John..where do we go?” Carter offered her own coat to Davidivitch who reluctantly nodded her ‘thanks.’

“Finch is on the way.” The man replied to Carter’s request, turning into the street on which the safe house was located. “Maybe we should separate them. Might be safer.”

“I can take one of them to one of our safe houses..the precinct uses it occasionally.”

“Appreciate it, Carter.” Reese did. “I’ll take her off your hands as soon as I get on site..two minutes, tops.”

“No need..I have some time to kill. I assume you have other duties to perform, at any rate.” Her attention was suddenly caught by the action of one of the women.

Cordelia grabbed her pad and pen. Carter held out a restrictive hand. “I said..nothing is to be..”

“I can’t leave this!” Cordelia was stricken. “I can’t!”

“She can’t.” Davidivitch came to Cordelia’s defense. “It’s her outline. It’s just a damned pad of paper, for God’s sake.” She was incensed for what she considered stupidity on the part of a couple of freakoid captors. “Check it! Those freaking notes represent a hell of a lot of money for me..”

“Calm the hell down, Lady!” Carter raised her voice as well. “Take the pad.” She informed Cordelia.. “Leave the pen.”

Davidivitch..calmed. “Sure..it’s always in the pen, kid..” she relaxed fully, having gotten her way. “The geek guy can buy you another one. The notes are the important thing, right?”

Cordelia nodded, unclipping the pen. Carter dropped it into the washer.

“Alright.” The woman had crossed, checking the street outside the building. She recognized Reese’s car as it slipped into an available spot between two white cars. One a late model chevy, the other an older Mercury sedan. “Which of you want to go with me and which with..the geek guy?” Carter found the term amusing, needling Finch a little for she knew he could hear the ongoing conversation.

“ME!” Cordelia piped up hurriedly, then shyly..blushed, averting her eyes hastily at Davidivitch’s sly grin.

“She has a crush on the little guy.”

“DAVY!” Cordelia was agast. “I most certainly do NOT! I…I j-just..I..”

“Looks like it’s you and me, Detective.” Taylor let the girl off the rack, finally. “Besides, she can do some research if she’s with her role model, I guess.”

“What are you talking about?” Carter was mildly amused but more..intrigued.

“The sooner she gets done with this thing, the sooner I get my commission.” Taylor reminded Cordelia more than Carter. “Find some time to write, sweet girl. All this excitement and ‘atmosphere’ should get the creative juices flowing sooner or later.”

“Role model?” Reese wanted to bring the topic of conversation back to that statement, walking up the front path, taking the steps of the entrance two at a time. “Is she talking about Finch?”

“No, she is not, Mr. Reese.” Finch disputed the statement, as he took the same route his counterpoint had minutes earlier. “Change the subject, please.”

The conversation continued uninterrupted inside the house. Reese knocked on the door lightly tapping his knuckles, waiting for Carter to answer.

“I can’t write.” Cordelia was positive. “How could I? My mind is filled with the fact..someone is trying to kill us, David! How can you be so blasé about this? It’s real!”

“What am I supposed to do?” The other woman had the grace to be bothered. “Shit happens. You cope..or you don’t. I ‘cope’.” She grumbled. “It’s how I operate.”

The silence came.

“It’s either that or..go crazy.” Davidivitch stated gloomily.

“I know.” Cordelia felt bad, rubbing the other woman’s back gently. “..I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.” Taylor moved on. “Am I in immediate danger or can I go pee before we round up the wagons?”

Carter went back to the window, a half smile on her face. Finch had found a parking spot across the street. “Make it quick.” Then she went to let the men inside the house.


	7. No More Mr. Nice Guy….

The silence was not only tense, it was beyond brittle.

John Reese sighed, leaning his arm on the concrete pillar base of the building in which he stood. He had left Davidivitch in Carter’s care because he wanted to check out the security on Thomas Cain’s Penthouse apartment. Which was state of the art, but easily penetrated for a man of Reese’s talents.

Thomas Cain was the least of Reese’s problems at the moment.

Harold Finch drove mechanically, accustomed now to his brand new 2012 Escalade, his mind on other things. The Expansion Bridge was a massive six lane tollway which headed North and South. At the moment, Finch was on his way out of the city. John Reese had explained the logistics of their new problem just hours ago.

If Harold had cause to doubt the topics discussed in the previous conversation, he was now witnessing first hand, the reality.

Reese had said, sooner or later, the woman would begin to experience the after effects of her recent ordeal. The shock would have worn off. Her mind would finally start to function properly again. To any normal human, that meant..an attempt to process that which had little meaning.

It could be a frustrating, terrifying time for any person, let alone, a female.

Reese could no longer recall such emotions. He remembered his first kill but the physical aspect of the moment was lost long ago. He knew there were certain stages one had to pass through after such a traumatic event. And he knew, it was now Cordelia Fellows ‘time’.

Harold glanced yet again to the girl next to him, noting the tightly clenched fist lying next to her thigh on the lush Corinthian leather seat. The bloodless fingers tightened so tensely, the small appendage was visibly shaking.

Cordelia’s profile was turned aside. One might have assumed she was merely taking in the passing scenery.

But, Finch sensed differently. She was weeping, silently granted..only an occasional sniff, a slight catch of her breath, giving her secret away.

“Well, say something, Finch!” Reese had listened to the strained silence for several miles now, waiting for the other man to jump in.

Finch had tried, unsuccessfully, a few times, to ease the horribly awkward silence between the two but the man’s social graces were definitely lacking in this situation for some obscure reason.

Reese knew Harold had preferred if Taylor Davidivitch had been the one to accompany him because Finch had no difficulty dealing with sarcasm. Carter had whisked Taylor away, leaving Cordelia and the ‘geek guy’ standing on the sidewalk outside the town house.

After one or two brief faux smiles of ‘hello’..Finch had helped the woman into his car, then both had sped away to a prearranged place of safety.

The drive had been a silent one on both ends. Cordelia had fallen into an awkward lull, and as the minutes passed, in which Finch could think of no small talk to ease the situation, the girl’s mood had escalated into a deep depressive ‘quiet’.

“..Ms. Fellows..” he began only to stop cold, as Cordelia had started jerkily at the sound of his voice, which seemed ridiculously loud after so long a period of silence.

Finch altered his tone and manner, for she had quickly swiped at her cheeks, turning hastily away, even moreso than she had before, to hide her present state.

She cleared her throat gently, striving for normalcy. “..Y-Yes, Mr. Finch?” she managed a polite reply but kept her face averted.

“Tell her everything is going to be alright.” Reese instructed, giving a solid starting point.

“..I..know how you must be feeling.” Harold thought another tactic would be more effective.

Reese closed his eyes for a beat, shaking his head slowly. “No..Harold.” he corrected, his tone a weary one. “You don’t.”

Cordelia had turned slowly, her look an incredulous one. “..Do you?” she asked, her tone ..odd. “Do you really, Mr. Finch?”

The green eyes were vacant..dead.

“Well..no, I suppose I..”

“Do you want to know the worst part?” the girl asked shakily. He glanced at the tear tracks on the chalky face.

“..I can’t imagine what it might be.” He told the truth. “..Will you tell me?” he asked, in that refined, civilized way Reese admired so about the man.

Cordelia’s bottom lip trembled uncontrollably. “..It was..the way his body just..lay there. So..still.” she swallowed hastily, her eyes darting about frantically, her body coiled, stiffly..alert. “..At that impossibly unnatural angle.”

Reese stood inside the glass and steel building that was the headquarters for Thomas Cain Enterprises. He watched people come and go in the busy intersection of the top floor offices, having just stepped from the elevator. 

He listened to Cordelia’s hauntingly moving soliloquy, his own mood lowering just a tad. He was sorry the woman had to witness the events that had gone down that night. Better a witness than a victim, he reminded himself but still..he felt bad.

Because he knew, with certainty..she was back in that damned apartment right now..reliving the horror.

“I..write scenes like that all the time and never once did I imagine..the insidious..quiet.” she continued as if she really had no choice. 

Reese glanced down the side of the skyscraper, for he had made his way to the ‘observation deck’ of the stately tower. The traffic looked like Mattel toys, people..mere dots. Heights never bothered him. Cordelia’s tone..did.

“Mr. Reese seems so..normal.” she continued, having forgotten the blue tooth connection momentarily. “So..nice but, he can’t be..” she sought Harold Finch’s input. “Can he? Normal people can’t do..what it is he does, can they?”

“Mr. Reese is a unique individual.” Finch stated quietly, driving with the flow of the traffic. “With very special skills. Ones which he used in your behalf, Ms. Fellows.” He turned a chastising glance her way.

“I know..that.” she sat back, drained. “I..didn’t mean..”

Clearly she felt horrible, torn between her new found loyalty to John Reese for having saved her life and..the reality of what it was the man was capable of.

“This all must be very unsettling for you and Ms. Davidivitch.” Harold acknowledged. “You both have held up remarkably well under the circumstances.”

The unexpected compliment threw both Reese and the woman.

Cordelia made a concerted effort to pull herself together, embarrassed for her lapse before this man. “..Davy has.”

“And you. Don’t forget,” Harold stated. “Ms. Davidivitch did not experience the..reality of this dreadful situation as did you.” He made mention with a movement of his head, his eyes rarely leaving the roadway or traffic around them.

The woman wiped her cheeks, vain enough to realize her physical appearance was..lacking. “I..I must look like one of the walking dead which, I am given to understand, is quite fashionable these days, granted, but..” she sought about the empty floor board vainly. “I do wish I had my purse.” She tried a small smile. “Women are such vain creatures, are they not, Mr. Finch. I do apologize for my..ingratitude and my lapse.”

She spoke rapidly, sentences overlapping. “And my appearance. I would like to lie and say, my hair generally looks so much better but, what you see is what you get, I’m afraid.” She held the long strands out on either side of her small head, woefully examining the condition of the lush, deep curls. “First the rain and now..no curling iron. A woman’s worse nightmare.”

Reese’s mouth quirked slightly, amused for the woman’s words. He watched the two guards go about their routine, oblivious to his presence. Just the way he liked it. Thomas Cain’s security was so incredibly predictable.

“Not the worst, Ms. Fellows.” Harold recalled her previous mood, having been somewhat touched by the simplicity of how she had stated it all. He offered a sympathetic nod of acknowledgement, then brightened somewhat. “..Your hair is lovely, by the way.”

Reese’s brows lifted at the totally out of character remark. He kept quiet though. Cordelia could use a little light banter along about now, he thought.

Cordelia herself was more than surprised at the statement, her expression saying as much. She stared wide-eyed at the man beside her.

“One likens it to..” Harold mused openly, tilting his head to the side a bit. “..A Botticelli painting,” He swept the long, flowing mass with an artist’s appreciation before returning his interest to the road. “The Birth Of Venus, perhaps.”

Reese’s brows inched higher and he viewed his boss in a new light.

Cordelia swallowed hard and blushed profusely, her tongue suddenly very much..tied.

“It’s very..nice.” Harold returned to normal to everyone’s great relief. “It looks..just fine.”

“Good start, Harold.” Reese could not resist giving his opinion. “Crappy finish.”

Finch tweaked his head a tad, feeling the brunt of his inadequacies. “Perhaps a change of scenery will help stabilize your emotional state.” Reese and he had discussed as much. And he thought a change of subject was in order, anyway.

“My..emotional sta..” Cordelia blinked, a little thrown.

“You are a female, thusly entitled to an occasional..”

“Change the subject, Harold.” Reese cringed for the other man. “FAST.”

“..I think you will approve of the place we go.” Harold heeded the warning, post haste. “It is by a lake..very tranquil. Of course, this time of year, it is probably not at it’s best. Although the fall foliage may remain. It is early October yet, after all.”

Cordelia held her smile. “You are a very intelligent man, Sir.” She applauded his quick thinking, amused at how effortlessly he had gotten himself out of that one.  
She knew she had acted the idiot and now, was paying the price. He thought her an over-emotional female unable to curb her emotions. She could not fault him for that assumption. “..It sounds beautiful, Mr. Finch. What a very kind thing to do. You and Mr. Reese were ever ‘kind’, of course. I do not know why I should be so surprised by such generosity of spirit.”

“She talks funny.” Reese was tiring of his assignment, looking around for somewhere to eat.

“You speak as if from another Century, Ms. Fellows.” Harold put it more acceptably. “Which is quite a charming trait, actually. You write in the same style, I have noted.”

“I KNEW you had read her stuff!” Reese gloated, joining the crowd taking the elevators down to the fifth floor where a restaurant awaited.

“D-Do I?” Cordelia’s blush had returned two fold. Her hand fluttered gracefully to her throat which was still bruised and scratched beneath the collar of the black trench coat. “Well, I..most of my novels are set in the Eighteenth Century. I suppose I have a tendency to.. ‘think’ in that time period’s frame.” She chuckled, self-depreciatingly. “How embarrassing.” 

“Not at all.” Finch disagreed, pulling the car off the Interstate unto an off-ramp. He drove parallel to the faster moving traffic they had just left, easing the car into a more sedate pace. The trees were abundantly vibrant with hues of oranges, reds and yellows. The scenery took Cordelia’s breath away. 

“The beauty of the English language is lost on this generation.” Harold continued his lecture. “Texting will soon put an end to any thought of proper spelling, grammar or punctuation, I dare say.”

“Oh..” Reese looked for a place to set and place his order, finding one over by the lunch counter. A small table with two chairs, as yet unoccupied. He headed that way, making a path through the many tables and chairs already taken. “IDK.” He quipped, keeping his voice low, his grin, private. “Wat up wid dat, Dawg?” he posed the universal question and his doubts that Finch’s prophecy would come to be. “Cut me some slack, Jack!”

“WTF.” Harold responded in kind, just managing to keep the irony from his voice.

“LOL.” Reese grinned openly, amused for the audacity of Harold Finch’s reply.

“Stop it.” Finch stated blandly, the exchange ended for his part. “..It’s been years since last I visited the cabin.” He turned his attention back to the woman beside him.

Cordelia’s head had whipped about at the rather vulgar expression then realized.. “Oh, no.” she whispered the realization. Mr. Reese was on line with the other man. Had he heard her unforgivable remarks? And what in God’s name were they discussing now? What an odd exchange.

Harold ignored the stricken expression, for he sensed it’s source. “There is a caretaker. I have failed to notify him of our arrival so we may be forced to rough it for a spell until I can get the generator going.”

“Do you even know HOW to ‘rough it’, Finch?” Reese seriously doubted it.

“You would be surprised, Mr. Reese.” Harold replied evenly. “Detective Carter has a day job. Why don’t you go relieve her of her responsibilities, as you seem pre-possessed to have time on your hands today.”

“But, I haven’t eaten, Finch.” Reese was enjoying the conversation a little too much in the other man’s opinion. “I get a lunch break, right?”

“Pick up a burger on the way over.” Finch clicked the blue tooth..off.

Reese chuckled his appreciation for the other man’s ‘style’. He went ahead and ordered the number eight anyway.

**********************************************************

 

“Well, this is it.” Harold stood in the center of the white washed rooms with their beaded board ceilings overhead. He lifted his hand slightly, encompassing the rooms about him. “Such as it is.” He was rather apologetic to Cordelia’s way of thinking.

But she was clearly enchanted with her new surroundings, her face alive with delight and joy. “Ohhh, Mr. Finch..it is absolutely..picturesque! How clever of you to think of the lighter wood.”

“Not I.” he sat his one sachel down, glancing about the cabin aimlessly. “I purchased it in this condition. I think they were going for ‘Cape Cod Beach House’. Which makes perfect sense as we are a hundred miles from the nearest beach.” He scowled. “More masculine furnishings might be in order.”

“Yes.” Cordelia mused thoughtfully, taking in the two vintage chairs with their matching coffee table which centered the living area before a comfortable looking divan of black woven material, complete with cushions of sand and grey stripes. “Wicker literally screams..Gay.” she cut him a mischievous look.

“Or.. ‘insolent female’.” Harold lifted a scolding glare.

Cordelia, being properly chastised, returned to her perusal of her new environment. 

Having stepped through rustic double doors with paned upper glass panels and antique hardware handles, she now wandered the cozy rooms, taking in the hardwood floors of pumpkin pine with it’s gleaming soft luster.

A heavy woven rug of pristine ‘oatmeal’ hue warmed the living room which was home to the small hearth made of water and sand worn rocks that would have existed in the 1890’s.

The kitchen, just off to the right of the entranceway with all the modern equipment, the white cream cabinets, a perfect fit to the darker island of teak wood and cast iron legs. Two wicker topped stools complimented the modern feel of the island.

Windows were abundant, allowing light into each nook and cranny, opaque shades of warm beige obscuring the amazing view of the lake and surrounding forests when privacy was called for.

“Please.” He could see the woman was anxious to tour the upper levels, indicating she should follow her instincts. He followed along behind her as she climbed the first landing, above which hung an oval window, lovingly salvaged and restored by the man himself, to it’s authentic beauty. The one piece in the entire house that was contributed by Harold. He had spent a few weeks up here after the accident, taking time to heal mentally and physically.

Inadvertently, his eyes caught sight of Cordelia’s rather fetching backside as she moved higher up the stairs, taking her time, exploring the house’s treasures as she went. The fact he noted such a thing at all shocked the man. Harold cleared his throat, his hand reaching, touching the frames of his glasses self-consciously.

He religiously disciplined his mind to safer subject matter. “The, eh..the holophane glass light fixtures date back to the Eighteen hundreds. I found them in an old home in town. It was being torn down but we managed to salvage a few interesting pieces.”

The staircase opened into a large master suite, complete with gambrel roof line. Cordelia’s eyes were drawn to the double bed, framed in brass splendor, a long pew-like wooden bench at it’s foot. A sea star and shell rope garland hung off the end of the brass footboard, lending a definite charm to the inviting place of repose.

Suddenly the woman was more than conscious of the male standing next to her in the now, cramped space on the top landing. She blushed slightly, moving discretely for her shoulder had been touching his, the electric shock of contact confusing her mind.

An antique marble-topped baking table lined the wall to her left, She hurried over to touch the cool surface. “How lovely this is.”

“That was actually found in the barn.” He nodded slowly, offering an explanation. “it was in a rather dilapidated state but with a little work..” he motioned with his hand. “It turned out quite good, don’t you think? And makes a quite functional desk.”

Cordelia could see the second bedroom directly across the hall. Two twin four poster beds were tucked back into a cozy alcove, lined with windows, both with antique ship’s trucks at the foot of the neatly made structures. “The entire house is absolutely amazing.” She told the truth. “So many unique and delightful objects. You have exquisite taste, Mr. Finch.”

“Harold.” He inclined his head with a short bob, disliking the rather guarded way in which she spoke to him, in this instance. “Please. We shall be spending a bit of time together. Perhaps we can dispense with the ..formalities unless..” he put the question on the table, offering her a direct gaze. “you prefer..”

She smiled gently over at him. “No..I would like..that.” her smile widened slightly, but the emerald eyes dropped, shielding her eyes. “Actually. You..can call me Amanda, if you like. Most people find my real name..eh..” she sought the word. “Not acceptable. That’s why I changed it, well..Davy changed it. She said, no one would buy a novel written by Cordelia ‘anything’.”

She laughed softly, seeking him out.

“I would.” He firmly corrected the misconception, staring hard at her freckled face. Even without makeup, she was a lovely woman. He shook the moment determinedly. “..If you would like.” He motioned to the smaller room across the hall. “You could make use of the guest bedroom, just there.”

She glanced to his meaning. 

“It is smaller but infinitely warmer at night and it does get rather chilly up here after the sun goes down.” He warned. “I’ve been meaning to put central heat and air but..” he let it go.

“Are you tired?” she had noticed his limp was more pronounced coming up the long driveway to the house. Even parked close, the distance was a good hundred meters from the graveled path. And of course, the stairs had been a problem although he hid it well.

“Excuse me?” he stiffened, reverting to his more guarded self.

She wasn’t sure how to put it, so she..lied. “It’s been a long drive and I know you and Mr. Reese did not get much sleep last night.”

“Oh.” He had thought she had noticed his infirmary. “Well..we are used to..odd hours.” He even managed a smile of sorts. “I am fine, thank you for asking. And you?”

“A little but I imagine we still have to get into town and there is that pesky generator to see to.” She reminded, keeping her tone light, her mood carefully controlled. She liked his scent. It filled the room now. A musky, expensive cologne which reeked of..virility. Cordelia chastised herself for her thoughts and her inability to keep her cheeks from coloring from them.

She imagined this man was accustomed to the ultimate in ‘sophisticated’ women. How very gauche she must appear to him. 

“I really wish you would allow me to..contact my bank, at least. Surely no one can trace such things.”

“Why would you wish to contact your..” Harold was puzzled.

“Mr. Finch..” she held out her hands to her sides. “I..this is..all I have to wear.”

He chuckled shortly for the problem was so obvious, he hadn’t seen it. “It appears I shall continuously be purchasing you clothing, Ms. Fellows.” He hated it that they were back to..square one. Ms. Fellows..Mr. Finch. He sighed lightly. “Of course, a trip into town is essential, is it not. We shall be needing provisions as well.”

Cordelia relaxed a bit. “You are so fortunate to own so many amazing homes.” She couldn’t get enough of looking at this particular one.

“Yes.” Harold rarely gave such things any real thought. “I suppose I am.” He too, really took the time to look over his possession. Seeing it through someone else’s eyes was very..eye opening. “I would say, take off your coat and make yourself at home but..” he quipped to lighten the moment.

Cordelia smiled at him, but pulled the long coat closer about her small frame. “Your Detective Carter is a most thorough individual.”

“The first rule of thumb Mr. Reese taught me is..never leave your charge unprotected. I’m afraid you will have to endure my company for a bit longer.” He stated. “You must accompany me. And as for the question of your bank? Monetary transactions can easily be traced..Cordelia.” he firmly put things back on track. “You are a very independent female, it is apparent but for the time being, you must rely on our..organization which is well funded, I assure you, with generous expense accounts.” 

He made his way back down the stairs, turning sideways to glance back at her. “Just ask our Mr. Reese..who has no qualms what-so-ever about utilizing the funds provided.”

“It’s..unseemly, that’s all.” She followed slowly, allowing the man to traverse the stairs in his own time, the limp impeding his speed of advancement somewhat.

“Unseemly.” He repeated, his eyes connecting with her’s for a beat. “A quaint word, Cordelia.” He smiled slightly, continuing on his way. “I rather like it.”


	8. Shoot From The Hip...

M RATING ON THIS CHAPTER/ SLIGHTLY SEXUAL SITUATIONS

John Reese had settled in for the few hours it would take Lionel Fusco to arrive back at the new safe house. He half sat, half leaned on a small nook by the West window, halfheartedly watching the hazy sun set over this obscure part of New York City.

Mostly industrial, a few of the old factories were slowly but surely being renovated into livable space. If one could call this living. 

Reese glanced behind him to the questionable quarters, the small three room apartment was situated on the top floor of what used to be a major retailer’s warehouse back in the hey day of this district.

A few amenities filled the sparse area. A dilapidated couch which had seen better days. It dated from the seventies, Reese was sure, with it’s red and blue striped fabric. A dining table with only three chairs and one of them had a broken leg so one had to be very careful when sitting. 

A coffee table that did not match anything but was laden down with fast food bags, one current ‘People’ magazine, and several used coffee cups.

The kitchen had the usual, but each appliance, though functioning, looked like they had been salvaged from the nearest junk yard. As safe houses went..this one should just ..go, in Reese’s humble opinion.

But, it WAS the last place anyone would think to search for an affluent publisher whose tastes definitely ran to..more expensive digs.

Although, to her credit, Davidivitch had not complained. Which had shocked the hell out of the man.

She had screamed bloody murder when a cockroach had ran between her legs when she was getting into the tub but Reese gallantly resisted going to her assistance. A few curse words later, she was soaking in steamy hot water and singing old Sixties songs, not to mention , a few of the more recognizable pop tunes that Reese kinda knew the words to as well. 

He sang along in his head for a while then noticed ..he had been singing along in his head so..he stopped.

He had spent the last half hour running through a mental list of a few good buddies of his from the olden days.

He and Finch could not keep imposing on Carter and Fusco, invading their private lives, their free time, which was precious and few.

The two guys he had in mind hired their services out these days, to the highest bidder for the simple fact..they were just that good.

Reese knew Finch could afford to pay top dollar and these guys were used to keeping their mouths shut where the job was concerned.

The good news was, they asked no questions so Harold’s precious secret would not be an issue as long as the money was good. Reese could call them in for just such occasions as this..when he needed to rest or..do his thing, but..

That was later tonight.

He would run the idea by Harold when they had a moment or two. Enlarging the organization to a few more capable, part-time employees would improve his efficiency and free up value personel..which would be..himself.

Reese knew Finch would shit nails at first, but he hoped reason would prevail in the end. He knew these guys..trusted them both. Each had tried to be there when times were bad..after Jessica.

After he had lost it..first the Company had turned on him and then..he had learned about..

He hadn’t wanted any help. He just wanted to be left alone. Because he had never been so alone in his entire life, which suited him just fine, at that time.

John refused to think about it these days, clearing his mind instantly. To think about it disturbed his sanity so..he had trained himself to shut it down.

Stop the process.

Move on..he knew he could be useful now. He had a purpose again. He was repaying all debts owed for past actions. Slowly but surely, he..

“Penny for them.”

Reese mentally jerked from his reverie, his eyes going to the source of the sudden disturbance to his solitary musings.

“Your thoughts?” Taylor Davidivitch stood, watching him intently, bathed in the dying sun of an ebbing afternoon. It streamed through the one lone window where Reese still sat. Casting a pale streak of light onto the faded carpet and beyond. The rain had come and gone, leaving a partially over cast day with intermittent bouts of melancholy rays.

Reese shifted, sweeping the woman’s frame absently. He slowly arose from his perch, only just realizing, his right leg, which had supported most of his weight..was tingling, leaning to numb.

How long had he sat there? His crystal grey eyes glanced back at the spot he had just vacated but he had better things now with which to bide his time.

His gaze measured Davidivitch’s form once again. “..You’re getting the carpet wet.”

“You call this carpet?” she challenged his descriptive powers. “besides, it’s your fault.” She indicated the thread bare towel which hung precariously about the appealing curves of her body. “What’s a girl to do?”

“My fault?” Reese didn’t mind prolonging the conversation. The woman had a fantastic shape, the short towel allowing a guy’s imagination to take flight.

“Well, your over zealous girl friend’s. She took all my clothes.” She managed to look hurt. “You mean, you hadn’t noticed?”

“I noticed.” He would give her that much. “Nor am I complaining.”

Davidivitch..smiled. It kinda warmed his cold heart, actually so..he smiled back. Just a tad though. No sense in getting crazy. “But..I’m cold. Either come over here and warm me up or..give me your shirt. It’s the gentlemanly thing to do. Your little geek friend would have already offered his services.”

“..I’m wearing my shirt.” He pointed out, enjoying the conversation a little more than he should, he imagined but he didn’t have Finch in his ear jogging his moral ethics.

“If I could pout, I would.” Taylor sat on a nearby chair arm, the slit in the towel suddenly more pronounced. 

Reese was hard-pressed to keep his gaze level and inoffensive. “Probably wouldn’t have much effect on you, anyway.”

“Oh…” Reese took note of the slender thigh peeking out from beneath the terry cloth. “I’m..affected..Ms. Davidivitch.”

“I should hope so..YOU can call me ‘darling’.” She had lifted a stylish brow. “Or..lover, if you like.”

Reese’s mouth twitched slightly, his gaze deepening. “What’s not to ‘like’.”

“And still..you stand there.” She motioned, leaning provocatively, a slender arm draped elegantly over the back of the rather shoddy cushion of the chair. “..Undecided.”

Which was exactly what the man was..undecided.

“We are both adults here…John.” She reminded. “Do I really have to spell it out for you?” she leaned slightly, and John’s eyes were drawn to the ample swell of her breasts crushed tightly by the fabric of the towel, knotted so haphazardly. “Or…I could simply return to my room..and we can both pretend this conversation never took place.” She crossed her legs leisurely. “Your call.”

The silence was thick. The small hairs on the back of John’s neck had arisen and he had to concentrate to keep his breathing on an even keel.

“Hummm.” She tilted that pretty head, observing him like an insect under a magnifying glass. The delicate brow furrowed slightly and she..moved gracefully, her legs separating, slowly. Ever so much so. She leaned forward, bringing both feet into the cushion of the chair, her slight weight making hardly an impression in the gaudy fabric. “You are an enigma, my friend.” She seemed impressed. 

Reese’s eyes dropped involuntarily to the shadowy depths between her legs. A guy couldn’t see anything of import but she was making sure he knew the prize was there.

“A man who can’t be bought..or bribed..” she smiled sweetly. “Or even..tempted.” the seductive gaze checked him out, making a slight shiver of anticipation run through his body. An electric jolt pierced his intestines, his shaft springing to vivid life in spite of him distinctly telling it to remain ‘at ease.’

A sensual purr escaped her lips. “Or…can you?” 

She had noted his condition..fuck it all. But she handed it professionally. Not calling attention to his weakness. “Who is it going to hurt?” she was curious. “Are you..attached?”

“..No.” He answered tightly. His attachments were all gone. 

“I’ve made you sad.” She seemed ..bothered, arising, the game not fun any longer. She walked to the window, careful not to stand before it, but he knew it was not from any sense of embarrassment. The silence was a comfortable one, oddly. “I don’t think you even know how to be unprofessional, John..” she looked back over her shoulder at him, her manner resigned. “In ‘anything’ you undertake..do you.”

She had asked a rhetorical question in her world, a derisive sound escaping her throat. She sighed heavily, her head lifting proudly. “Well, there’s a good book awaiting my arrival in that hovel you laughingly refer to as..a room.” She threw him a cryptic look, turning, making her way slowly back across the small space between them. “Guess I’ll get to it.”

John felt an acute sense of loss. Had he wanted to be swayed? He knew without doubt what lay beneath that fucking towel. He hadn’t forgotten what it felt like..to lose himself in a woman’s arms.

He could smell her perfume as she passed. A sweet, surprisingly demure scent that filled his head with images of soft, warm, secret places of delight. Her skin appeared so smooth and silky, her hair loose now, falling over her shoulders in lush waves of erotic fullness.

His hand itched to touch it.

It had been so long since he allowed himself any type of..down time. He was not even certain he knew how to let his guard down any longer. That way of life had become a part of him.

These days? The greater part, he suddenly realized.

Somewhere in the vestiges of his brain, he could hear Finch’s voice. "Really, John? You? ..Of all people? I expected..better of you."

Reese expected better of himself too, but his hand reached as she passed, catching her upper arm in a gentle but firm clasp. Her eyes met his and she..leaned into him,her palm burning through the fabric of his shirt. She could feel his heart beat..

“Steady and even.” She tsked woefully, her eyes chastising him. “that will never do, John.” She tip-toed, her mouth brushing his suggestively, then she..pulled back, allowing him to decide the moment.

Reese was feeling things as well. Nice things. Really..REALLY..nice things, his eyes dropping to those..nice things, his hand moving of it’s own volition, to rest on a shapely hip. The coarseness of the towel did not dispel the amazing feel of the womanly curve.

Her mouth had tasted sweet..full lips crushed to his willing ones, and for one brief second, the tip of her tongue had swept fleetingly across his bottom lip causing his organ to expand and lengthen.

Her eyes pulled his soul, what was left of it..from his body. A guy could get lost in those damnable things if he wasn’t careful but John Reese was always..careful.

“You’re right, John..” she could almost read his thoughts. “I do want something from you..just like all the rest.” She nodded minutely, her gaze stationed on the strong line of his jaw. “I want you to..” she lifted her mouth, and he..lowered his, their lips connecting but she pulled back just enough to whisper her demands. 

“..tingle with..anticipation.” she breathed the last word, the hot breath fanning his throat, causing ripples of pure pleasure to traverse the back of his arms.

Her hand snaked up his shoulder, about his neckline, her fingers massaging into his hair, her mouth brushing his temptingly, planting light, evasive kisses which left the man strained and..alert. “flush with..urgency.” the soft mew of contentment clouded his mind for a second. As she moved ever so close to his body, curving her form to his, her leg hooking about his calf and the towel..dropped. 

Whether he had dislodged it or she..didn’t matter. He could feel flesh and it felt phenomenal under his searching finger tips. He touched her gently, almost irreverently..finding his way, seeking paths which pleased her. The sounds she made guided his efforts.

“Moan…” she showed him just how to do it..correctly, the sound making his penis harden painfully. She took his hand, placing it on her right breast, then cuddling close to him, sighing contentedly, when he squeezed the plumb orb lovingly. “With suppressed.. desire.” She closed her eyes, leaning her head back, and he ran light, evasive kisses down the satin of her skin, unto the full slope of her breast, not stopping there, for he enjoyed making her tremble..which she was doing and had been for a few moments now, her speech hauntingly..hesitant, where before..she had been definitive and secure in her pronouncements. 

Her flesh tasted better than he had imagined and that elusive scent was now within his grasp. He buried his face between the heated surface of her breasts, breathing in the miraculous fragrance. His arms held her securely pressed along his body, his palms flattening on the firm, solid roundness of her buttocks. He pushed her closer still, his very being vibrating to her existence.

The woman reached between their bodies, her fingers stroking his hardness, curving to his shape and it was John’s turn to..moan, which came out as a strangled grunt of willingness, which melted into a totally accepting gasp of acceptance as Davidivitch deftly unzipped his slacks, her hand gently moving aside the layers separating her from her objective.

John felt the urge to assist her but..she seemed perfectly capable so, he simply..waited. His erection was a painful one but she was careful and gentle with the extraction process and then, his world tilted slightly off axis as she..knelt before him.

**********************************************************

 

“Oh, I disagree, Mr. Finch.” Cordelia hated to do so, but..she did. “Kafka’s descriptions of law and legalities must be considered metaphors for something other than what they seem.”

“ ‘The Trial’ is an unfinished work, Cordelia..we, none of us, can really say with certainty, what Kafka was trying to convey, in my humble opinion.” Finch held the door for the woman to enter. The conversation started on the drive into town and had filtered over. The pair made their way down the sidewalk of Main Street, Unionville, New York. A small town of affluent people, population, 612 souls.

It was the middle of the week, so the shops were not overly crowded, luckily. Harold disliked shopping for anything as a rule, but necessity called for putting aside his feelings on this occasion.

Once inside the quaint little establishment, Cordelia’s mood dropped a tad. She leaned close, her suspicions confirmed by the merchandise she had perused. “Mr. Finch..this place is far too expensive. Can’t we just go to K-Mart? It was off to the right when we were coming into tow..”

“What is…a ‘k-mart’?” he asked succinctly. “Is it a ..discount establishment?”

“..Well, it is a world renowned retailer with excellent prices.” She rephrased.

“I do not shop..retail.” he assured her.

She leaned closer. “I can’t afford this place..it’s ridiculous, what they are charging and sooner or later, I have to repay you. I am on my own..in New York, which, if YOU hadn’t noticed, is the most expensive place on the face of the planet.”

“You must make good wages..you’ve had novels which were very well received, were they not?” Harold caught his faux pas. “I am so sorry.” He apologized sincerely. “It was and is..none of my affair, your wages. I don’t know what got into me.”

“I also have a publisher that gets a large percentage of my earnings not to mention, the rent on that flat that Davy insisted I..”

“As I said.” He felt uncomfortable discussing such a personal issue. “Besides, you are not required to repay anything..”

“But I am.” She insisted. “I couldn’t do any less. Why must we constantly quarrel over such a silly thing? I WANT to repay you..and Mr. Reese for all your ..”

“Please desist from saying those things. It’s ..unnerving.”

Cordelia was confounded. “You find discussing money..distasteful.” she suddenly realized.

“Decidedly.” He informed her. “So, may we forego such discussions in the future. This blouse is nice. It works with your hair, do you think?”

Cordelia felt bad. “I’m sorry, Mr. Finch. I didn’t mean to make you angry. It’s just that..” she hesitated uncertainly. “I haven’t always had money and it’s rather..” she sought the correct word. “terrifying to realize that..that situation might arise again if I am not very careful. Perhaps, however..I am being over cautious.”

She smiled sheepishly. “You can go get the provisions if you like. I’ll only be a few minutes here.”

Harold glanced once again to the two women attendants in the shop who had been eyeing them curiously since their entrance. He felt distinctly uncomfortable under such scrutiny. But the girl’s words had moved him inspite of himself. He tried to shake the sensation off, moving forward. “I can’t leave you alone, remember.”

“Surely, I’m safe in broad daylight and you are only a phone call away.” She motioned to a business phone over by the cash register, ignoring the blatant looks from the women.

“Absolutely not.” He shook his head. “I will sit quietly while you choose the items you need.” He searched in vain for a suitable place, finding none what-so-ever. “Are there no seats?”

“Back in the dressing room.” Cordelia found his ignorance of such things charmingly antiquated. So, Harold bravely endured the process, while the girl made quick work of her task, choosing a few necessities as they went. She pulled up short at one point, when they approached the panty section., totally aware of the man beside her. 

She blushed slightly, averting her eyes, pretending to be interested in the shoes lining the store front windows.

Some odd perversity overtook the man, for he had inexplicably enjoyed her discomfort, sensing it’s source. He cast a quick glance to see how the other women in the shop were faring before offering, in a rather sedate tone.. “The blue lace would suit, don’t you agree?” 

Cordelia’s mouth fell open, her cheeks suddenly ablaze yet again.

She watched helplessly, as the man made his way back through the small aisles, to the front of the store. He had carried her purchases, and now placed them on the counter. “My friend would like these gift wrapped, please..if you don’t mind.” And his tone suggested..even if they did.

The women seemed suitably dressed down, hurrying to do his bidding.

Cordelia grabbed a few of the silk panties and two of the more sensible cotton briefs, fumbling to the man’s side, awkwardly laying her choices down.

Harold’s eyes swept the pile, a slight smile gracing his lips. She had carefully hid the blue lace under all the rest. He gave her the moment, turning discretely aside until the clothes had been tallied and boxed.

He laid a credit card down..platinum, of course. And waited patiently for the ordeal to end. Although, surprisingly, he had not found it to be as horrible as first he imagined.


	9. Let The Games Begin...

“It was painfully clear what those women thought!” Harold Finch was still irked. “And while the idea is preposterous, I do actually think that they considered me to be your…” he sought the correct phrasing, not wishing to offend anyone’s sensibilities.

“Sugar Daddy?” Cordelia was a little irked herself, the pretty cheeks flushed not only from the brisk coldness of a Northern wind. The two individuals walked back to the Escalade which was parked a few stalls down from the actual shop they had only just exited. “Because..that is EXACTLY what you make yourself out to be!” 

She stated this opinion in no uncertain terms, not even bothering with Finch’s sensibilities.

“I have never been so mortified in my entire existence!” She too, had noted the all too smarmy attitude of the old crones in that store, the one she glared at even now. “The old biddies!” she was embarrassed for the man and moreso..for herself. The feeling she had to endure while standing there, checking out. “Why didn’t you tell them to go to hell and walk out?” That is exactly what her friend, Davy would have done. “I HAVE MONEY!” she proclaimed rather loudly, trying to balance opening the locked door of the auto with her arms full of packages and boxes. “ME! I don’t need YOUR money!”

Harold was hard pressed to keep his face straight, suddenly seeing the humor in the situation, finally. “You seem fixated on that fact.” He managed to retain his aloof demeanor, his eyes flicking the couple just passing their location, who seemed overly-interested in the conversation but one lifted brow from the man squelched any further gawking. “Perhaps we should alert the media..there are a few people in Outer Mongolia that did not hear your proclamation.”

Cordelia was subtlety reminded of her unforgivable breach of etiquette, unable to meet the eyes of the older man and his wife who happened to be passing by as the argument ensued. She waited for them to go on about their business, lowering her tone, whispering harshly across the roof of the car, for he had crossed to the other side now. “I AM fixated on it..I do NOT enjoy you constantly paying my way!”

“Why is that, one might inquire?” Harold was at his best when being obtuse.

His superior tone pissed Cordelia off all the more, and for once, she did not defer to him, her natural temper coming to the fore. “Because I know for fact, you do not approve of me, which puts me at a decided disadvantage in this situation..one, I might remind you, which I did NOT cause!”

“That was improperly phrased but,” he could let that one slide, waving his hand slightly about, the one holding his key pad. He too, was loaded down with several parcels, but he clicked the pad, going to open the back door of the vehicle as he debated the issue at hand. “that is neither here nor there.” He placed the boxes neatly into the seat, situating them carefully. “First, those horrible creatures in that store with their narrow-minded views, assuming all sorts of unpleasant scenarios and now you..yourself, accusing me of ..” he paused, having straightened, his gloved hand resting on the top of the car. “What, exactly?” 

Harold found himself enjoying the exchange a little too sadistically for his own peace of mind, but he did not once think of halting the conversation. He stood now, daring her to answer the question put to her. “Disapprove?” he also debated that statement, having considered it in full but that was what he did. A champion debater from way back, his college days were remembered with a certain fondness for no one had managed best him at that pastime..there was even a plaque somewhere stating the fact.

It was probably in that second box up in the attic at his house. The one he considered his main residence. Or it could be in the basement along the South wall on those shelves that..

“Disapprove..dislike!” Cordelia was not going to deal in semantics at this point. “And why did you insist these items..” she held her arms out that he might inspect her meaning. Harold came around the car, sighing heavily, opening the back door of the auto. Cordelia threw her parcels haphazardly inside, her attention never once wavering from his averted profile. “be ‘gift wrapped’” she quoted with her fingers, a smug look on the pretty features. “I’ll TELL you why..because you consider them a ‘gift’..” again she quoted, watching irritably as Harold righted several of the packages, stacking them neatly, to match his own side of the cat. “Which implies..” she continued undauntedly. “I am now, somehow..in your debt!”

“Your mind works rather oddly.” In truth, the man had followed her reasoning perfectly for he, himself, thought in such terms. “Perhaps, Ms. Fellows..a ‘gift’..” he ‘quoted’ with his gloved fingers. “Is merely a’’ gift’..” again, the quote which pissed her off even more so, he noted with hidden glee. “What is it you think I want from you that a ‘debt’ in kind must be repaid..that you CLEARLY do not wish to give?”

She gasped, following his hidden innuendo. “OHH!” she breathed out her embarrassment, her cheeks certainly getting a work out this afternoon, he noticed. “I never once thought…I only..s-said..”

“One did not have to actually state the accusation,” It was good to know he had not lost his touch. “What else could one surmise?”

“I know, beyond doubt, that you do not think of me in..such terms!” she was quick to rectify THAT misconception. “Usually, you are too fine a gentleman to..to..but today!” she was astounded by his behavior. “You are being ..a…” she sought an inoffensive but proper word. “Poopyhead!” After all, Davy often accused Cordelia of being one, but it was meant with affection, surely.

Finch’s brow furrowed slightly, he had to discipline his response, for a smile just about erupted on his face. 

“…An erudite observation on your part.” He managed..just, to keep his features perfectly composed. “Shall we now bring out the blocks and construct a tower, or..” he lifted a chilly brow. “Would you rather color a Disney Princess?”

“OHHHHH!” Cordelia was beside herself. “You pompous ASS! You..y-you..” she sputtered, floundering helplessly. “Horrible…HORRIBLE man!”

“Such stinging barbs wound deeply.” He remarked drily, his manner crisp and precise. His gaze was decidedly cool and definitely off-putting to the girl who stood rooted to her spot, unable to handle, either the turn of events..or the man himself. “Perhaps we should cease this nonsensical exchange and endeavor to act the part of adults or..” he jerked the car door open, always the consummate gentleman. “Do you suggest a spit-ball face-off at ten paces?”

The rather full, sensual mouth dropped open, the emerald eyes widening with shock. “I…I HATE you!” she seemed rather certain of the statement. “I..I hope you get killed in a…a…grotesquely horrible manner by…” she could not think of anything heinous enough. “Klingons!”

“’Grotesquely horrible’.” He repeated, his mind unable to phantom the meaning of that phrase. He stared off into the not too distant horizon, not even bothering to attempt such a feat. He shook his head woefully, sighing yet again. “Klingons…really?” his tone said it all. “Color me impressed.”

“I..I have difficulty with descriptive adjectives!” she defended herself staunchly, the small chin lifting defiantly, her eyes flashing her temper. 

“That is abundantly clear.” He nodded curtly, indicating she should..shut up and get inside the automobile, for he still held the door for just such an occasion.

“I hate you!” she breathed out vehemently.

“I believe that fact has been established.” He jerked his head to the car yet again.

Cordelia was torn between her common sense and indignation but in the end, she slid into the seat, in her haste and ‘grotesque’ anger..forgetting to be lady-like in her actions. The long black coat she wore gaped open and for one brief second..Finch was rewarded for his efforts.

He blinked, his pulse jumping erratically for he clearly..most distinctly..was presented with an amazing view of..Heaven. However brief.

Cordelia grasped the door from his unresisting hands, slamming it soundly in his face. She crossed her arms, her profile presented, her manner frostily..aloof.

Harold made his way back around the front of the car, totally ignoring the glacial stare he received from the vehicle’s one lone occupant, his mind on other matters entirely. “..A natural blonde.” He mused, muttering his thoughts aloud. “Don’t find many of those now-a-days, I hear tell.” Now he truly WAS..impressed.

He entered the Escalade, slid the key into the ignition and the heater and engine kicked to life. He checked on his passenger. It was going to be a long ride back to the cabin, indeed.

“Seat belt.” He admonished, turning his head leisurely, glancing out his window at the scenery for she had offered a rather descriptive, unladylike oath for the unnecessary reminder. Finch hadn’t heard that phrase in a while although he secretly assumed John Reese said it often when he was not within hearing distance.

He busied himself with his own safety harness, for it took that long for him to regain his perspective. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” he had to say it or die. He wasn’t proud of the lapse, but..there it was.

“I don’t HAVE a mother, much like you, I should imagine because..you’re a changling! An elf of a man!” Cordelia had an opinion on many things this day, apparently.   
“I am quite certain you were found under a toad stool!”

“By wandering Gypsies.” Harold finished the woeful tale, checking traffic flow. “By the light of a full moon..just after the Winter Solstice. My Father was a Druid Priest..just in case you wondered.” He pulled out of the parking spot, smiling contentedly. She refused to look at him, so..he felt he was safe enough in allowing his true nature..finally. A grin creeping up unbidden.

********************************************************

 

John Reese’s mind was fully occupied, functioning at rapid-fire speed. 

Other women had performed this..service for him, of course. But none had put their whole heart and soul into it as Taylor Davidivitch had done and was doing, these past few moments.

Her administrations were systematically stripping the thin veneer of civilization from Reese’s disciplined mind.

The hot hollow of her mouth engulfed his, by now..throbbing apparatus, that inventive little tongue teasing, tantalizing, experimenting..testing his mettle to the limits.

She knew how to prolong the exquisite agony he suffered by stroking with her mouth, suckling leisurely.. the heightened flesh of his penis, her slender, but efficient fingers, delicately squeezing his scrotum with gentle, erotic pressure that was slowly but surely, driving the man up the proverbial wall.

Even though he had not even undressed, they shared the most intimate of moments..she touched him in such a private place, in such a very private manner, that they might as well have been stark naked in front of the window for John felt exposed to the core.

Somewhere in the deep recesses of his mind, his logical, analytical, professional side was screaming a warning: DANGER: WILL ROBINSON..DANGER!

But the more practical side..the Alpha, was overruling such bourgeois ethical evaluations.

John Reese was a man, first and foremost. A male..subject to that species inherent weaknesses. Case in point: the blatant seduction of a beautiful woman.

He knew what now transpired was wrong, on so many levels..he knew he should put an abrupt halt to the proceedings, he knew..he should never had allowed them to begin with.

Like Scarlett Ohara, he would think about that ..tomorrow.

What he actually did do, in lieu of the things that should be done, was..to open his eyes, and lower them to the administrations below. He slid his fingers into Davidivitch’s hair, gently massaging the warm skin of her nape, encouraging her every move.

The woman rewarded his efforts by a soft, melodious moan and other, really..cool things. All of them attached closely, to his stiff, unyielding arousal. His eyes glazed a bit, as he continued to..watch the proceedings.

His stomach was tight with anticipation, his sac filling rapidly with fluid as his emotions waged a losing battle with his brain.

His index finger traced an exquisitely gentle path along the full, sensual mouth which suckled him so lovingly even now. The active little tongue flicked insistently into the slit of his dick, probing curiously.

Davidivitch tasted the salty tang of the man, smiling happily for she knew she had caused that tiny drop to appear on it’s own. She went back to work, more diligent in her efforts to arouse some reaction from this difficult subject.

Reese drew in a quick breath, his head falling back, his hands trembling slightly as they cupped her head, holding her from withdrawal. “Deeper.” He growled the request which was instantly..fulfilled. John’s breath caught in his throat, a strangled sound of gratitude escaping his lips.

His body stiffened, the hair on his arms raising, a slight tremor running his frame. He was loathe to realize just how close he was. He could not deny himself a few more meaningful plunges into the hot, moist paradise of Davidivitch’s delicious hollow.

If the woman minded the rather rough handling, she did not let on, indeed, encouraging such play with a rather suggestive squeeze of his right ass cheek. John was no fool, obeying her request to..move closer, still.

She gagged a bit, chuckling indulgently. She licked the entire length of his stiffness, settling back down to her main task quickly enough.

“Stop now.” He advised, his hand covering her’s, his gaze filled with unbridled passion. He was surprised at just how ‘tense’ his tone sounded, even to his own ears.

Those sultry orbs lifted most effectively, a knowledgeable glint found within the penetrating gaze. “I was just beginning to have..fun.”

“Don’t you want to play too?” he stated quietly. He hadn’t wanted to spoil her mood..not at all but, he was too close..too fucking close.

She..smiled, arising slowly, her arms easing about his neckline. He welcomed her into his embrace, and she stretched out like a feline on a couch cushion. “You react very well to..stimuli..” she seemed appreciative of the fact. “..John.”

His name on her lips was beginning to feel like a soft caress of a balmy breeze on a tropical island. Something John had always enjoyed, but so seldom experienced.

He knew he didn’t have to worry about all the things that went through a man’s mind at such a time..Taylor Davidivitch knew her own mind..knew what she wanted and was not shy about pursuing her goals.

She took the pressure off a guy. Reese appreciated that as this was the first time he had felt the need to..indulge since..

He pushed the image from his head, angry it had appeared at such a time. Damn it to hell. Wasn’t he allowed any reprieve at all? He needed this! He suddenly realized as much, looking into the depths of those incredible eyes. He not only needed it..he wanted it.

He didn’t mind putting others first..as a rule.

But the truth was, and he was having to confront it now..his attraction for this woman ran a little deeper than he had first thought. He had nothing to feel guilty about..nothing! He wanted to experience Davidivitch. She stirred him physically..he was curious to see if he could return the favor.

He moved his hands over the satin of her bare flesh, her skin heated..warm to the touch. He cupped her ass cheeks, massaging gently, the firm, rock hard surface. She moved closer, her leg wrapping about his calf, her mouth lifting for a caress.

John obliged her, his tongue pushing past her lips, flicking into the wondrous depths, tasting honey. His nerves tingled with an electric charge. Their mouths fit perfectly together, and for a brief moment, he lost himself in the excitement of contact.

He felt delightful bulges enticing him to further explore her body. His fingers tweaked the nipple of her right breast, and he rolled the tiny bud between his pressured pads, eliciting soft mews and grunts of growing contentment from the woman’s throat. 

He leaned, his arm tightening on her waist, lifting her effortlessly, just enough to cover the amber rose of her nipple with his mouth. She had a definite weakness for such antics, melting to him, gasping for breath suddenly.

He reacted on instinct and John Reese’s instincts were in perfect working order these days. His arms embraced her tightly, enjoying the contact, her nakedness igniting his senses to new heights.

He was an action kind of guy, never prone to sentimentality but..he could be..’thoughtful’ if he thought about it long and hard enough. He ‘thought’ now would be a good time to say a discrete, ‘thank you’ for what she had already given him.

He broke the kiss, his eyes holding her’s willfully and he..stepped, taking the woman with him as he went. Her back hit the nearby wall and she grunted softly with the unexpected impact but his arms had shielded her from any real harm.

He continued to hold her eyes, his own allowing her to read his emotional involvement. He slowly..painstakingly so..lowered his mouth again, the contact brief..teasing..fleetingly..sweet.

“Bastard.” She breathed her awe of his abilities, waiting..hoping he would show her..more.

He wedged his thigh between her legs, feeling the heat emanating from that sweet little valley. He knew she liked to be in charge. John did not mind, nor did he fear a decisive woman. But he had a few little idiosyncrasies himself, which he wanted to indulge.

He moved his thigh back and forth, ever so slowly, his lips working creatively on her nipple. The wet moisture filtering unto his neatly pressed slacks encouraged him..and made him all the harder for her.

He flexed the muscles of his thigh, and her own tightened systematically, squeezing and rubbing erotically about, trying to expend the restless energy building inside her. “…Nice.” He whispered coarsely, his gaze saying so much more, however.

She spread her legs further, groaning brokenly.

He gallantly accepted the invitation, reaching between their bodies, his index finger feathering the scare pubic hair he had found, rubbing ever so gently over the carefully shaved fluff. He moved lower, feeling slick heat. “Look at me.” He stated tensely.

She was too busy..savoring. 

“LOOK..at me.” He commanded her attention, his tone raw with ..need.

Davidivitch opened her eyes, their gazes locking.

Reese slid his middle finger into her opening, enjoying the stiffening of her body and slight gasp of..purient pleasure she emitted. He thrust it deep inside her cavity several times, his thumb rubbed, brushing over the nub of ecstasy he had found from a thorough search of the wet, slick lips he now played with. “I want to ..make love with you.”

She shook her long tresses, her eyes restless on his face. “Fuck me.” She instructed achingly. “I want you to..fuck me. I don’t need…the other.”

Reese nibbled at the slender column of her throat, planting warm, soft kisses about the fragrant skin. “No.” he revised the scenario. “I want….” He could not keep his hands from roaming the incredible body. His mouth marked her throat, as he sucked leisurely on the delicious skin. 

“I will not be a substitute for her.” Davidivitch’s eyes turned cold. “You fuck me..or get the hell out from between my legs!”

Reese..at first stunned by the venom in her tone and manner..recalculated. “..You want me to fuck you?” he growled his annoyance for her having disturbed his mood and fantasy. He grasped his cock in hand, kicking her legs apart.. He flicked her face, his own flushed with anger. His mouth tightened, his eyes cooling by degrees. “…Whatever.” He pushed his rod into the steamy depths awaiting him, enjoying the slight catch of her breath and the totally feminine gasp of pain for his size was more than he had readied her for at this stage..not that he wouldn’t have taken time and care otherwise.

He expected her to slap his face..she didn’t. 

Davidivitch relaxed into the moment, and in seconds was purring like a kitten. Reese was hard pressed to know exactly what he should, or should not..do.

So, she showed him, grasping his neck tightly, lifting her legs about his waist. It was she who began the ancient movements of loving making. She, who first joined her mouth to his.

John Reese was many things..but an idiot..he was not.

He forgot all about his supposed hurt feelings, soon matching the woman thrust for thrust..grunt for grunt..kiss for kiss.

His back didn’t even have time to strain although the next morning, he would feel the bruise of muscles he hadn’t used in a while. The white hot intensity of the lascivious passions washing over him, took his breath away. He enjoyed the awesome ride for all he was worth as the woman took him higher and higher into a realm of erotic pleasure he had so long denied himself.

The soft haze of fulfillment drifted away slowly. He found himself propped against the cold wall in Davidivitch’s stead, and she was cuddled lovingly to his totally relaxed body.

“..Welcome back to the land of the living..” her gentle voice caressed him, even as her body warmed him. His shirt was open, pulled from his waistband and his slacks lay bunched around his ankles. How..or when it had happened, he had no clue. 

But, she was right..for so long now, he had felt dead inside. He was feeling other things now. Kinda..nice things.

“For one brief shining moment there..” he could hear the smile in her voice although she remained still, entwined with in his arms. Resting casually against him. He could smell his scent on her..and her’s on him. Another nice thing. “I thought I felt..true involvement.”

It was Reese’s turn to..smile. “For one brief shining moment..” he shared with her. “..You did.”

She lifted her mouth, kissing him passionately. “It’s enough.” She lay her head back on his shoulder and they..basked. “I’ll take what you can give.”


	10. Blue Light Specials..

Harold Finch glanced over to his passenger..yet again. He sighed mentally. “..You know, it’s perfectly alright to cry, Ms. Fellows.”

The girl turned her averted profile. He was surprised to see her clear-eyed and..volatile. “I don’t want to ‘cry’..” she informed him in no uncertain terms. “I want to punch you right in the face!”

Finch returned to his driving, feeling better. “Fisticuffs are the last resort of an uninspired mind.”

“I’m ok with that.” She snapped peevishly, returning to brooding and the passing scenery. 

Finch bit the inside of his cheek to keep from reacting. “You are better than that, Cordelia.” He reminded almost paternally.

“No..” she disagreed sullenly. “I am not.”

“Yes!” he stressed insistently, sparing her a glance. “You ARE!” he fell silent for a long beat and the girl did not seem obliged to speak either. Harold tried again. “..We are quarreling over nothing. Those women, in the larger scheme of things, mean nothing.” He paused for emphasis. “ At least, not to me.” He checked on her reaction..which was nil. “..I might have reacted badly back there.”

Harold stopped short of apologizing because it was simply something he did not do. “As did you. You must simply move past this unreasonable block you have concerning..money. Such beliefs are beneath you.”

“And YOU..” she countered heatedly. “Must simply move past your penchant for being a pompous self-righteous know-it-all.”

His face softened just a tad and he permitted a minute smile. “..Perhaps I must.”

Cordelia jerked her head about, the long fluff of her hair swirling delicately about her face, the emerald eyes wide with shock. “…You…you…” had she heard correctly? “M-Must?”

“Ummm hum.” He nodded absently, steering the sleek automobile into the crowded parking lot of the local..K Mart shopping center.

Cordelia gasped happily, seeing their location, her hands clasping together in open ecstasy. “Ohhhh, Mr. Finch!” her eyes shined over at him, a huge smile on the once dour little features. She impulsively leaned across the console, hugging him dearly, holding tightly for a long beat.

Finch at first, stiffened, unaccustomed to being ..touched, by anyone, actually but he chastised the reaction, forcing his body to relax. His hand came tentatively to rest lightly along Cordelia’s right shoulder, at length, patting the fabric of her coat awkwardly. The moment lengthened, and to Finch’s great surprise, the awkwardness began to..fade.

Cordelia knew she was pushing the boundaries of proper proprieties but the man’s cologne filled her head with the virile essence of him and she simply refused to halt the feeling so very abruptly. She closed her eyes, holding tightly to the expensive fabric of his overcoat, her fingers clenched into the slightly damp wool. Her pulse was reacting very oddly to his nearness, her stomach tightening with something she had never experienced before but had only written about.

She could not resist turning her face into the warmth of his neck, taking in the wondrous scent that constituted Harold Finch. She could feel the heat of his body, the hardness of muscles and surprisingly fit form beneath her finger tips.

For Harold’s part, he enjoyed, for one brief second, the exquisite warmth of her breath on his flesh, a totally alien thing that quickly reminded him of..other times. As did the poignant fragrance of a light, evasive scent that made his nostrils tingle with something akin to sheer delight. He had experienced such things before..but that was a raw subject, Harold needed to put from his conscious mind.

The man ended the embrace, pulling back slowly but surely, offering a brief smile of polite indifference that, in truth, was a lie of sorts, for he was feeling emotions. Ones he did not wish to either analyze or even consider. “It doesn’t take much to make you happy, Ms. Fellows, I must say.” He made light of the situation and his own inadequacies. “Shall we?”

“Well..” she too, could compromise. “I have lots of things I need in there.” She beamed him a sincere smile. “Lots!” she lowered her eyes, hoping for some sort of approval from the man but not knowing why it was so important to her.

“Good girl.” Harold appreciated the effort displayed. He motioned that they should proceed with their new adventure, if she was of a mind. She flushed with pleasure, turning toward her car door.

He exited the vehicle coming around the front. Cordelia was already out of the car, her eyes scoping out the other shoppers herding toward the huge ‘entrance’ doors at the West end of the gigantic structure.

“Mr. Finch.” She tugged on his coat sleeve, leaning very close, as they joined the gathering throngs. Cordelia was suddenly very aware of the males in the vicinity. She lowered her voice, whispering for his ears alone. “Can you tell..I only have the coat on?” her eyes darted to one young man hurrying past, moving closer to the man. She turned a worried gaze.

Harold’s eyes fell to the ‘V’ of her coat, his mind flitting back to when she had entered the car..before..at the other shop. He shook that image hastily. “..You look very..professional.”

“OHH!” Cordelia took that the wrong way, her head swishing about anxiously, her eye large and fretful, as she noted all the men in the parking lot.

“Oh..” Harold sensed the problem. “No..not..that! As in..you look very much the young executive. Adorned in proper business attire.”

“…Oh.” She relaxed mentally and physically, breathing a sigh of relief. “don’t do that.” She scolded, then resumed their trek slowly. Harold examined his surroundings critically allowing the woman to set the pace and direction.

The store entrance housed a few people gathered around a machine that evidently dispensed videos of of some sort. “..How does that work?” he motioned as they passed.

“You can rent a movie and return it at the box. You use your credit card.” She explained, selecting a cart from the long rows available. “Mr. Finch.” She questioned him with an annoyed look. “Are you giving me the business?”

Harold didn’t think he was but one never knew. He glanced down, examining the rickety wheel on the back of the cart she pushed. But there were too many other things to hold his interest as they moved into the store.

“There are sanitary wipes.” She mentioned, thinking this man in particular, would appreciate such a convenience.

“Dear God…why?” he asked, shuddering slightly, noting a few of the more..colorful people in their immediate area. One young man had orange hair that was spiked into high peaks on top of his head. A woman was dressed in a totally inappropriate top which showed far too much cleavage not to mention, the band of her jeans was so low it showed..things he thought best not to show. He stared at the rose tattoo on the woman’s posterior and the piercings that were prominent most places on her body.  
Cordelia seemed oblivious to her surroundings, however, moving the cart into another aisle.

“This place is enormous!” he suddenly realized. She allowed him time to stand and see. Harold noted the huge signs hanging every where, over head. “Automotives..” he read aloud, turning this way and that, craning his neck. “Beauty Supplies, Pharmacy..Electronics..” his interest piqued. “Electronics?”

He checked with her. “I told you.” She reminded, heading the cart over to the section he seemed most intent on visiting.

Harold preceded her now, perusing the merchandise with avid curiosity. He started loading items into the cart and soon Cordelia thought perhaps, they might need another if he didn’t stop soon.

The wheel rattling began to wear on the man’s nerves. “We should stop by ‘automotives’..” he quipped, suddenly in a better mood. “Perhaps they can fix that.”

Cordelia chuckled. “I think you really mean that.” She looked over the items on the shelves. “Too bad there is no television out at your place.” She put ‘Pride and Prejudice’ back into the video section. “We could play cards, I guess..to pass the time? Chess?” she altered, seeing his blank stare.

Another thought occurred to her however. “You are probably very good at chess though.” She was at a loss as to how one might entertain such a man. “And I don’t like to lose.” She reminded herself more than Harold, he thought.

“The sign of a small mind.” He muttered, reading the back of a Norton Security package. 

“..Are you being mean to me again?” her good mood was rapidly fading away. 

Harold considered the question. “No. That was uncalled for. Your mind is..unique.” he could live with that word. “I appreciate how it functions.”

“That still sounds mean.” She pointed out.

“Not at all.” He denied. “Here..I shall purchase you a lap top.”

“So I can visit the ‘Disney’ site?” she suspected.

Harold looked at the box in his hands. He replaced it reluctantly. “It always makes ME feel..better.” he shrugged aimlessly. “Then..what DO you want?” he indicated the entire store.

She settled, seeing his sincerity. “It’s getting late. Maybe we should go get the food?”

He was agreeable, having all he needed from this section of the store. He followed behind, checking out each and every aspect of this wonderful place. “Ohh, look…blue lace.” He pointed as they passed. 

Cordelia gave him an old-fashioned look and..kept on pushing the cart.

********************************************************

 

Lionel Fusco had the oddest look on his face but John Reese wasn’t going to address the issue at hand. “She sure takes a lot of baths.” Fusco had made note, as he looked absently to the securely closed bathroom door from which the dulcet tones of an old sixties song by a wonderful torch singer filtered out. Lionel had the entire album at home.

“It’s a woman’s ‘me’ time.” Reese had long ago concluded, looking at the closed door as well. “They all like a good soak.”

“I’m a shower kind of guy.” Fusco didn’t see the attraction, “Get in, get it done, get out, it’s not brain surgery.”

From the bath, came the haunting lyrics of a beautiful melody…

 

‘I found a dream that I can speak to..  
‘I dream that I..could call my own  
‘I found a thrill to press my cheek to,  
‘A thrill that I …have never known..

 

Fusco shifted questioning eyes. But Reese chose to ignore the obvious question with in the hazel eyes of the little man., busying himself with assembling his weapon, having cleaned and inspected it thoroughly. 

 

‘You smiled and then the spell..was cast  
‘and here we are…in heaven.  
‘and you are mine..  
‘AT LAST. 

 

Taylor Davidivitch finished her song, smiling secretively, wondering if her ‘at last’ guy had heard her serenade but more importantly..if he had appreciated the irony of her choice.

Reese’s hands stopped fiddling with the weapon, his face registering amusement.

Fusco let it go. “She sings ok.” He gave Davidivitch her due. “Etta James. One of my favorite.” He remarked.

“I thought it was Billy Holiday.” John turned, frowning over to the man.

“You thought wrong.” Fusco knew his blues singers. “Etta James. One hell of a woman.”

Reese gave him that much. He was packing up his gear. “I won’t be long.” He gathered his coat, the leather one for added warmth against the chill of a mid-autumn night. “What I have to do shouldn’t take long and then I’ll be back to relieve you.”

“Yeah, well..don’t get shot.” Fusco went to the window yet again, as he had done several times since his arrival half-hour ago. “There’s a Ranger’s game on tonight. This flea trap doesn’t even have cable. I like the little geek guy’s safe house’s better.”

“I’ll pass on your compliments.” Reese opened the door, careful to check for any would be lurkers. He met Fusco’s stare. “Keep her safe, Detective.”

“If the roaches don’t get her, we’ll be ok.” Fusco shrugged off the concern, knowing his own abilities. “Go do your thing. Knee cap someone for me, will ya? It gives me a warm, fuzzy feeling.”

Reese sighed mentally, taking the barb in stride. He left the dingy apartment behind with but one last glance to the closed bathroom door.

He was headed..uptown.

 

*********************************************************

Cordelia approached the small cluster of trees, her brow furrowed slightly. “What are you doing?” she was curious.

“Setting up a parameter.” Finch had purchased the items needed for just such a concern. “I’ve modified the apps I’ve downloaded to fit the new system I’ve installed.” He arose slowly, having a little difficulty in doing so, his leg giving him hell the past hour. He checked over his handiwork with a critical eye. “Primitive but functional, I dare say. This will alert us to anyone approaching within 400 meters. Not much time granted but the effective range of transmission is very limited. I am basically working with the equivalent of prehistoric stone knives and bear skins.”

“Mr. Finch..are you quoting Mr. Spock?” 

“I beg your pardon?” he dared her to continue with such a line of thought even though he well knew the episode to which she referred.

Cordelia’s full lips compressed tightly for a beat and she tactfully changed the subject. “Can I help?”

Finch had gathered up his tech tools. “All done, besides..” he checked on the sky. “The sun is setting. The temperature drops quickly up here. It’s best to be indoors.”

She nodded, preceding him back to the house. There was evidence of a recent snow fall, clumps of hardened ice dotted the landscape, still unmelted from the sun’s sparse rays.

Cordelia made her way about the slipping sections, her new boots very much warmer than her previous choice of footwear. She had chosen a soft fleece top of azure blue, cream thermal, long-sleeved undershirt and darker jeans. Warm argyle soxes kept her toes toasty. She had forgotten gloves and head gear but this ensemble was very much better than just the long black coat she had sported about all day.

She had thrown the latter over her shoulders however, a bit chilled, as the fire in the hearth was only just beginning to take the draftiness from the cabin.

She and Finch had stocked the wood bin well for the upcoming night. The man had said they would kick the electric heaters on later tonight. He was wisely conserving the generator’s power as he had no idea just how long they would require the cabin.

He promised, if it was more than this one night, he would contact the Power Companies to re-open the house. Rarely used, the cabin’s main power sources were disconnected which discouraged unwarranted ‘squatters’ in this exclusive vacation spot, but also conserved energy. Harold believed in being ‘Green’ whenever possible.

Walter Payne, the old reliable caretaker had stopped by with extra cans of gas for the huge generator, leaving a note of ‘welcome back’ as Finch had finally contacted his friend while in town.

Walter’s farm was equipped with it’s own gas tanks which Finch kept well-supplied even when not making use of the cabin.

In reality, the man had not visited the place in almost four years but he was happy to see Walter had kept the place mowed, all repairs updated, all appliances functioning perfectly. Even out-dated bulbs had been replaced.

Finch highly suspected Ruth Payne, Walter’s better half, as the old-timer often referred to his wife, had come around to ‘dust and fluff’ as she put it.

Harold had made the acquaintance of the older couple at the diner in town..the only one with food fit for consumption.

Friendly and out-going and terribly curious about the new neighbor on the parcel of land adjoining their 40 acre farm.

They had settled the area in the late 40’s, Walter fresh out of the army and WWII. Their sons ran the farm these days but Walter was still a vital, vibrant man of 84 years young. Farm living had agreed with the man. His wife, Ruthie, had been a child bride, when they settled down to start their large family.

Still a lovely woman, frail looking but tough as nails beneath that no-nonsense exterior.

Walter had offered to look after the cabin, as those damned hippie kids oft-times, according to him, came up in the summer months just looking for abandoned homes to crash and have their loud, ‘reefer’ parties..damned useless lay-a-bouts!

Finch offered to pay, of course but Walter would hear none of that, so Harold found other ways to compensate the generosity offered.

He had stopped by last time, having recouped somewhat from the accident, to inform the couple of his imminent departure and to say his farewells only to find Walter knee-deep in grease and tractor parts, swearing up a blue streak because ‘old Herbie’ had finally gone ‘belly-up’ and died on him.

Neither of them, Walter or Ruthie, had asked about his new ‘limp’..or inquired of the ‘why’ of it all. For which Finch had been grateful. He had been very self-conscious of his new disability, certainly not wishing to share the details of how he had come by it.

Finch returned to New York and his new way of life, and the next day, Walter found a newly delivered John Deere tractor awaiting his personal use. 

The following week, the new gas tanks were installed in the field behind the barn. What good was a tractor if it didn’t have fuel, after all.

“Mr. Finch, I made soup and sandwiches.” Cordelia brought his reverie to an abrupt halt, guiding him to the dining table complete with place-settings, mats and utensils, all set and ready to enjoy. “Not gourmet but filling, hopefully...”

Finch surveyed the cheerful atmosphere. He removed his coat, hanging it on the peg next to Cordelia’s. “It smells wonderful.” The girl served up the simple fare while Finch washed up. 

Black wooden bowls full of some noodle concoction that actually tasted quite passable, once tried, was served with artisan bread, a glass of red wine and diagonally cut ham and turkey sandwiches. A relish tray with neatly sliced tomatoes, large leaf lettuce and green olives set to the side, if needed.

“I hope you have an appetite.” Cordelia situated her napkin on her lap, sipping from a glass of tap water.

“Decidedly.” Finch brought the sandwich closer, picking up the carefully toasted bread and filling. “This is..unexpected but very well received, Cordelia.” He made mention, saluting her slightly with the object he now held in his hand. “thank you for being so thoughtful.”

She moved the wicker stool a bit closer to the table, the cast iron legs getting in her way.

“You’ve been working so diligently..” she said. “I felt rather useless. It was the least I could do.”

 

*********************************************************

Reese waited, his body relaxed yet alert, his senses having long since adjusted to the darkened area in which he now stood.

Ten minutes had passed according to his watch. It was the one piece of equipment John invested heavily in for it was important to his chosen vocation.

Punctuality was often a plus, especially when working for a man like Harold Finch.

The driveway to the elegant mansion was well-lit, but the security layout was definitely lacking. It had taken him less than three minutes to disarm the fence parameter settings and less still to traverse the shadowy depths of the gigantic lawn which graced the front of Amelia Harper’s Grecian style home.

Mammoth trees lined the long paved road leading to the oval shaped driveway. Only one luxury auto was parked within the raised circle of creatively arranged bricks.  
The red BMW awaited it’s mistress, quietly, silently witnessing the arrival of the new visitor who now lurked in the shadows of the overhang of a completely unnecessary carport attached to the East end of the mansion which ran the entire length of the house.

Reese glanced along the rose covered archway. A person could fit six cars under this thing, he imagined. The rose bushes lining the house were still a healthy, dark green, the foliage fed by a good fall blend of fertilizer and expert gardening skills, John assumed.

Reese had a plant in his apartment which he nurtured religiously but still, the leaves were dotted with brown spots, the soil felt dry constantly even though he watered it to extremes and the damned thing seemed determined to bite the dust no matter what administrations he tried. He had even checked on line but nothing had worked to date.

John was no quitter, however, so the battle still waged in his mind.

He was determined to save that darned plant. It had become some sort of symbol to the man. Of what, he had no clue.

He wondered how Finch was faring with Cordelia Fellows. Reese had checked in about thirty minutes ago and the two had just finished dinner.

Finch was updating his new computer system and the lady had retired early. He imagined it had been a trying day for Ms. Fellows. Finch had a personality that took getting used to.

Finch seemed in high spirits however, clearly excited about the fascinating new place he had discovered.  
K-Mart stock was just about to rise, Reese surmised, with a small smirk.

Finch had been concerned they had been followed from town, he had relayed, but it had only been a family of four who had continued on to their house after Finch had hurriedly pulled off the road, concealing the Escalade in a grouping of trees until the suspected ‘tail’ had passed.

‘Better safe than sorry.’ Reese had commended the other man’s actions, proud that Finch was being cautious.

‘What would you have done had it been an actual bad guy, Harold?’ Reese had been curious.

‘Called you and asked for instructions, of course.’ Had come the brisk reply.

‘I’ll call in after I check with the parties of the first part, Mr. Finch.’

‘Be careful, John.’

Reese thought back over the conversation but quickly dismissed all else, a sound alerting him to..the presence of another.


	11. Mr. Finch Gets Frisky...

Amelia Harper was dressed to the nines. The party she would be attending tonight was a very special social event, only the most exclusively affluent people would be present.

She wanted to look her best and had taken extra time with her appearance.

Reese’s eyes ran the length of the red silk gown she sported. A heavenly creation from the line of Christian Dior which felt like a second skin on her carefully sculptured body. Reese didn’t know anything from designer frocks but he knew what looked good and Amelia Harper looked ..good.

Of course, the woman worked diligently with her personal trainer and highly paid chef in order to maintain that girlish figure. Cost was no object in her world..not any longer, at least.

Matching Jimmy Choo stilettos completed the stunning ensemble. She wore nothing else but an indecently priced perfume. She had thrown an ankle length white mink coat over her left arm for later, when the temperature would drop.

She didn’t wish to wrinkle her gown now, however. She was even careful with the small Louboutin hand bag whose silver chain hung from her shoulder. Inside was her lip stick, silver powder case, a comb and of course, her platinum card for any unexpected emergencies.

She had never had to actually make use of the card as men were constantly caring for the more mundane things in life for her. But, a girl couldn’t be too careful these days.

Amelia pushed her key pad, hearing the familiar click as her door unlocked. She stepped carefully in her heels, not wishing to scuff the liquid leather of the red creations.

Reese had approached quietly, his right arm going about the woman’s throat, his free hand covering her mouth, his fingers squeezing tightly enough to dissuade any sounds of protest.

She had stiffened and buckled wildly for a brief second until his soothing, calming voice washed over her frantic mind. “shhhh.” He advised, halting any further thoughts of struggle with his ever tightening arm about her throat. “Stay calm.” 

The seductive whisper caressed her ear, which was very close to his mouth. She felt the warm breath fan her cheeks. He smelled of spearmint gum. Which somehow terrorized her even more.

“Listen carefully to what I am saying.” Reese disliked repeating himself at such times, his silky baritone sending icy chills up and down her spine. He relaxed into her form, pulling the lithe body hard against his muscular frame. 

Amelia could feel the unbendable strength emitted in his powerful body. She whimpered brokenly, her eyes darting about, but seeing no path of escape and no source of help.

“Imagine if you will..Amelia.”

The use of her name made the woman cringe. This man knew her..knew where she lived...how much more did he know about her?

Reese kept his hand over her mouth, the frantic breaths she offered warming his fingers somewhat. The night was getting colder. “How Amanda Collins must have felt in the same situation.” 

He tightened his arm, cutting off her air supply for a brief, breathless moment. Amelia had tip-toed, trying to lessen the pain, crying out a strangled, garbled response but..he eased the pressure slowly but surely. “Not a nice feeling..is it.”

Her fingers grasped the thickness of the leather coat he wore, her nails marring the sleek rawhide of his sleeves, for dear life. “P…Ple…” she rasped a plea which fell on deaf ears, muffled though it had been.

Reese’s fingers left her mouth, crushing into her carefully coiffed hair, leaning her neck painfully to one side. “You sent your man to her apartment,” He glanced to the white mink, that she had dropped on the ground beneath her feet. “..Not a nice thing to do, Amelia. You and your friend..Thomas Cain. You’ve caused all sorts of trouble for Ms. Collins.”

The man eased her head even further over his bend forearm. 

Amelia gasped her fright, sucking in great gulps of god-sent air, thankful for the opportunity given. “I….I….”

“One quick flick is all it takes.” Reese’s fingers tightened into the disarrayed hair to demonstrate. “Your spine cannot take the pressure. They say you die instantly but..I don’t know.” He grimaced slightly, keeping his tone conversational at best. “I’ve done this a few times now and the way the body twitches and jerks?” he shook his head minutely. 

A feeble cry of dismay escaped the woman’s lips.

“I have no medical degree, of course.” His fingers kept a vigilant pressure on her head, his arm snuggly tight about her neckline. “maybe it’s the same principle as chopping the head off a chicken..the body doesn’t know it’s dead for a while.”

Black spots swam before Amelia’s frantic eyes, she fought to remain conscious.

“Consider this a wake-up call, Amelia.” John suggested silkily. “Your life has been a rather self-indulgent one. I would think seriously about changing your direction..before it’s too late.”

 

********************************************************

 

Cordelia walked down a long passageway. She knew evil things lurked in the dark recesses of the hidden corners, the ones shadowed by eerily moving figures. Faceless entities. Still, she felt compelled to move..forward.

A dim, hazy light beckoned her..far off, down the tunneled corridor. The only sound, her uneven, hurried breathing. The silence surrounding her was ominous.  
Dread filled her mind. She wanted to run far away from this awful place but her legs refused to obey her commands.

Something horrible awaited her..in that light up ahead. Something deadly..was reaching out for her and still the shadows moved with fluid evasiveness. A profoundly deep seeded despair washed over the woman.

She moved..closer, her fear mounting.

She tried to halt her steps, to retrace the path she had taken. She wanted to cry out for help but her throat was paralyzed.

Suddenly she could smell and taste salty foam..thick clumps of sea weed gathered around her feet, slowing her momentum. She stared down at the churning sea as it rushed about her ever sinking form. 

She could feel the sand give way beneath her feet. She was sinking..fast.

The sound of a fierce wind caught her attention. She looked out over the horizon. Heavy storm clouds rolled in but they were suddenly blocked out by a gigantic wall of water, higher than a ten story building.

The dark clouds raced across the wide expanse. Cordelia’s breath caught in her throat and she knew, without doubt..she did not have much time left.  
Terror gripped her mind. There was no where to go. 

The massive sheet of water rushed toward her..

 

*******************************************************

John Reese clicked his blue tooth ‘active’. Fusco answered his phone dutifully. “What?” he sounded extremely bored.

“Lionel..tomorrow.” Reese rethought the intended statement. “Or..maybe the next day..maybe Thursday. Whenever you get around to it.” The man shrugged casually, having parked his motorcycle in it’s usual spot, in Finch’s underground garage, the one off 4th and Parkway. He placed his helmet on the seat, unfastening the tap of his leather jacket, the one closest to his throat. “No rush about it. There’s a red BMW parked out by Mill Creek Marsh, Northern Section. It might behoove you to check out the truck.”

“Jesus Christ, Reese..” Fusco was no longer bored, at least..more irritated, were his tone any criteria by which to judge. “Really?” he shook his head disgustedly. “You realize you are speaking to a cop, right?”

“No dead bodies laying around..yet.” Reese climbed into the new car Finch bought to replace the one that John had ‘accidently’ backed into the police escort transporting one of their recent Persons Of Interest to the courthouse a few months back. “This one is very much alive. When I left her, she was bitching about ticks and poison ivy..or that’s what it sounded like. It was kinda muffled.”

Fusco sighed lightly, returning to his coffee cup, which he held cradled in his large hands. He sat at the small kitchen table, munching on some grapes.

“Ms. Harper is ruminating on her past misdeeds..give her some time, huh?” Reese pulled the sleek auto out of it’s stall, backing up, then sped out of the exit unto the his next destination.

Fusco had to admire the guy’s style. He checked on Davidivitch who was watching an old ‘I Love Lucy’ rerun on the small television set in the living room.

They had ordered Chinese. She still picked at the small box of noodles with chop sticks, her energies focused on the tv screen.

The man swiped a cockroach off the leg of the table. He stomped it into the linoleum floor. “One down, huh.” He followed the big man’s reasoning, approving of Reese’s methods. “Yeah, well..Cain is surrounded by gorillas packing heat so, the next one might present a problem and what about the old man? No damned way you can get to him. His type? They don’t fear hellfire itself and you know that.”

“You’re a pessimist, Lionel.” Reese pulled up in front of a ritzy apartment building. His keen, intelligent eyes swept the parameter absently. He had his route already well established in his mind. He had mapped it out this morning. “I got it covered.”

Fusco lifted unimpressed brows, clicking off the connection, replacing his cell into his inner jacket pocket. “Yeah, well..” he muttered to himself. “You better had, Kimosabe..you get taken out and this entire operation is kaput..finis. “

For a moment, Lionel thought about joining Davidivitch on the ratty sofa but settled for rummaging through the cupboards and refrigerator instead. He needed a snack. One that wasn’t so ..healthy.

 

*********************************************************  
Harold Finch heard the disturbance from his room, where he had set up his computer systems. It was just about as efficient as the one at the library but of course, this one was only a make-shift point of operation.

The hour was late, the wind outside the small cabin had picked up somewhat. The weather site on his laptop said, a cold front was moving down from Canada and would hit by early morning.

He could see across the darkened hallway into the other bedroom. He had insisted Cordelia leave the door slightly ajar. 

She had been restless now for the past half hour but it seemed, her dreams were taking a turn for the worse.   
She muttered, several phrases coming through loud and clear, however. 

He arose, crossing the space, coming to stand beside the half opened door to better hear what was transpiring with the young lady. Harold stood, leaning slightly, his brow furrowed and concerned.

******************************************************

Cordelia could not get her breath, the wall towering high above her now..the hypnotic swell over her head..the white swirl of water plunging to the beach, the graceful arch of the majestic wave closing about her small body, for the sheer size dwarfed all things in it’s path. 

She looked up, to see tons of emerald green ocean dropping down ..slowly..she gulped for breath..a scream rising in her throat.

 

**********************************************************

 

Harold rushed into the room, mindless of proprieties, seeing the young woman thrashing about jerkily in the covers of the small twin-sized bed. He came to her aid, his hands taking hold of the slender shoulders, shaking gently. “…Cordelia!” he spoke quietly as not to disturb her more than she already seemed but his voice fell on deaf ears.

She continued to scream, fighting whatever demons now possessing her. She pushed against his hands, a strength borne of the terror she obviously experienced.

Finch could think of nothing else, so he gathered the writhing body into his arms, holding tightly, murmuring gentle inanities, as he attempted sooth and comfort.

“I’m here.” He muttered repeatedly.. “It’s..alright now.”

He held tight, and soon the wild thrashing movements ceased. Cordelia had worn herself thin, finally collapsing into a sobbing heap of frayed nerves and exhausted listlessness.

She held tightly to the man’s neckline, having latched on to his presence in the beginning, gulping frantically for air, her entire body trembling violently.

Harold’s hand soothed her tense back muscles with soft strokes of reassurance, his free arm holding her comfortingly close. “It’s over.” He spoke calmly, his quiet, authorative tone somehow managing to reach her clouded mind. “You’re safe.” He closed his eyes, feeling the trembling lessen finally. “It’s ok.” He murmured soothingly.

The silence of the room filtered into Cordelia’s shattered thoughts. The wind outside lulled her chaotic mind.

She held on to the only piece of solid reality she could at that point. The fear was gone..replaced by a deep, abiding sense of safety and contentment.

She felt the strength of the arms which surrounded her, reveling in the security offered. She turned her head, moving ever so slightly away, in order to ascertain if her senses lied to her. She knew his scent now by heart.

And, he was there..the blue green eyes watching her so intently, the odd shaped face that had become so endearingly precious to her. His glasses were absent..his eyes must be tired.

He sometimes removed them, massaged his eyes. Squinted at his computer screen for a bit before replacing them, then getting down to serious business.

She wasn’t sure what exactly his ‘business’ was, but he was very diligent whenever he attended it.

Always staring straight ahead, focused on those screens he had set up. Cordelia could barely check her email, and was constantly losing files and ‘documents’. This man was so smart..so..capable.

But now those eyes were focused exclusively on her. She studied the lines of his face..the cleft in his chin..the way his mouth softened when he forgot to be guarded.

“Are you alright?” she loved his voice..the very sound erotically sensual to her suddenly. The refined lilting way he drew out the end of his sentences. Did he truly care if she was.. ‘alright’, she wondered. Or was he just being solicitous, as was his way.

He had loosened his tie. Cordelia’s eyes fell to the opened ‘v’ of his shirt. She was enthralled with the small smattering of chest hair she could see starting just under the hollow of his throat, disappearing into the unbuttoned crispness of the expensive garment.

Finch felt the electric charge between them, the emerald stones stagnating his thought processes for an instant. He knew he should end the moment. He attempted the feat. “…you were..dreaming, Cordelia…that’s all.”

His eyes fell to the full, pouty lips. Her hair was loose, falling everywhere..over her shoulders, down her back.. soft and luxurious and..touchable.

She reminded him of a wild creature, a lost, hurt one. He smiled at her tentatively. “That’s all it was.” He gently tried to disengage himself from the situation, certainly but moreso..his own emotional involvement. 

But, Cordelia would have none of it. She gasped, a shudder racking her body, and she gripped his neckline for dear life. “N-No.” she asked feebly, pressing her body tightly against his.

Harold closed his eyes, savoring the feel of the woman in his arms. For one brief moment, he tightened his hold, his hands caressing her back lovingly. He could hear her breathing and it comforted him on a level he examined briefly then dismissed.

“…Ms Fellows..” putting things on a more formal footing, he thought..probably should be the way to go..and he had ever so reluctantly..loosened his hold on the warm, fragrant body, feeling himself rapidly losing control of the situation..not to mention, his common sense.

“P-Please..d-don’t.” Cordelia wasn’t above pleading at this stage, desperate to experience some kind..any kind of intimacy with this man. Her pride seemed so unimportant suddenly. She searched those penetrating eyes religiously, looking for a weakness..a softening..

Finch tried a weak smile, fumbling for the correct words. “Perhaps we should retire to the kitchen. A hot cup of coffe..”

“Please!” Cordelia’s eyes filled with the threat of unshed tears and her bottom lip trembled invitingly. 

Harold’s heart melted by degrees but…some nagging side of him screamed..be responsible here, idiot. She is just a child reaching out from the darkness.

“Then at least..” he would settle for the mundane. “Get back under the covers. You will catch your death.” He ever so gently reached, his hands clasping the slender wrists still latched about his neckline but Cordelia closed her eyes tightly, reaffirming her grip two-fold, holding desperately, her body once again, pressed to his.

Harold was hard pressed to know exactly what to do. Certainly he did not mind her seeking comfort in him but neither was it acceptable to take advantage of her vulnerability. 

He hesitantly..relaxed his stance, allowing her time to adjust to her awakened state. His arms gently..ever so lightly, fell to his side. His hands itched to return to the warmth of her body. But that would be..just wrong on his part. “You are intelligent enough to know..” he wasn’t certain if he was speaking to himself or the girl. “this is all Freudian on your part.” He felt it should be reminded. “Keeping that in mind, then..” he breathed in a calming breath, his hands reaching but he squelched any real contact, doubling his fists tightly, forcing them back to his sides. “I see no real harm in..a few moments of ..” he nodded sagely. “human interaction, if it will make you feel less apprehensive.”

Harold waited patiently, disciplining his mind religiously. Her body was so ..warm and ..perfect.

He was determined to weather the moment. Surely, it was a test any self-respecting male would pass effortlessly, once his mind was..

Cordelia lay her head on his shoulder, sighing deeply. The warmth of her breath enthralled the man, for it traveled over the flesh of his neckline, sending shivers of delight up and down his arms.

Harold swallowed hard, refocusing his thoughts.

Cordelia moved ever so slightly, her lips touching his skin, soft kisses placed ever so lightly along the curve of his jawline, moving slowly..downward. Her breath hot, and heavy with involvement by the time she reached the base of his throat.

Finch closed his eyes, basking in the sensuality of her actions. “..Stop doing..that.” he demanded, albeit..half-heartedly. But..she didn’t. Settling instead, closer still, snuggling to his warmth..her mouth gently traveling over the scratchy surface of his unshaven chin, clumsily searching for..and eventually finding..his lips.

Which he parted slightly, encouraging such brazen behavior, knowing full well he was doing so but unable, at this point, to do less.

Her lips tasted deliciously sweet, fitting to his mouth perfectly, as if she were made for him alone. Her breath on the side of his cheek thrilled him no end.

Harold lifted his arms, seeking her waistline, moving aside the fabric of his shirt which she had asked to borrow earlier as she had forgotten to purchase proper night wear. 

His hands felt hot flesh, as he slid them about the small waistline, pulling the girl to him, his mouth suddenly probing her lips with gentle, well-thought out, deeply searching caresses right down to the moment his tongue probed languidly into the hot hollow awaiting his exploration.

The small, imperceptible catch of her breath caused Harold’s stomach to tighten spasmodically. And her melodic moan of pleasure sent ripples of adrenalin up into the pit of his stomach. He tightened his embrace almost painfully, unaware of having done so. 

Cordelia’s body was fused with his, the only thing separating them, two securely fastened buttons on the upper part of her breast area. And a pair of ..blue lace panties.

But, Harold could feel the delectable crush of full, young..ripe mounds against his chest..the heat of her body infiltrated the fabric of his shirt. The taunt little tummy leaned suggestively to his abdomen and he was loathe to put a halt to his own actions.


	12. And A Partridge In A Pear Tree…

Reese road the elevator, the soft hum of the hydraulics the only sound besides his even, steady breathing.

His hands were clasped sedately before his crotch. He waited patiently for the ride to end.

On the eleventh floor, the automatic doors dinged merrily, announcing his stop. He stepped out, the swoosh of the doors closing behind him.

The slate grey eyes scanned the corridor on either side of the lift he had just exited. A neatly lettered sign down to the left signaled his next destination. He headed for the ‘stairs’.

He knew, once inside the landing, just through the faux metal door he now opened, he would be under security surveillance. The fact did not trouble him. He wanted to give a little head’s up time. It seemed only fair.

Most people..probably all, Reese imagined, his gaze resting on the lens of the camera in the corner just above his head, would automatically head ‘down’. The confident stare traveled the stairwell to his right. The top floor of this apartment complex was owned by Thomas Cain and therefore, off limits to anyone but the ‘noblesse obliged’. 

Reese had always assumed with that title, came the responsibility to carry oneself in the manner of a noble person. In his travels, he had come to realize..few who claimed the position, deserved it.

He had decided against confronting Cain at the office complex. The security was more intricately involved and here, he only had a few obstacles to overcome.

He started up the emergency stairwell, casually extracting his weapon from inside the hidden shoulder holster, to conceal, certainly, but also to flatter the cut of Reese’s stylish suit of charcoal gray. A darker, more subdued black shirt completed his outfit this particular night.

He had decided to forego the tie, for this would be filed under ‘informal meet and greet’ in ‘Reese World’..so even though he had recently invested in a few new ones..he was bare necked for this outing, his shirt unbuttoned to allow a glimpse of what Taylor Davidivitch had affectionately labeled..Seventh Heaven.

The thought made Reese’s lips twitch ever so slightly, a softening of the steely glint in his eyes.

He made his way leisurely up the fourteen steps, his eyes on the metal door at the top of the next landing.

A solid, thick click announced his presence had, indeed..been noted. 

His finger tightened slightly on the trigger of his weapon. A thin set, balding man with a dark scowl threw open the heavy door, weapon in hand, the steely cold eyes insolently raking the intruder into Cain’s domain.

No time was wasted by either man on civilities. Reese lifted his arm, his glock discharging a well-placed shot directly into the slender man’s knee-cap.

The security guard cried out loudly, his leg giving way instantly, his own weapon slamming into the landing with a sharp metallic clink, as he..himself, fell headlong down the steep incline of stairs, his frantic attempt to grip the railing, slipping with the unexpected weight behind his fall.

Reese casually stepped aside, leaning into the wall, allowing his assailant to continue on down, gravity helping greatly in his descent.

The guard crumped to a halt on the bottom landing, his groans giving way eventually to blissful unconsciousness.

Reese continued his steps, opening the heavy door with one hand, chancing a quick glimpse around the corner of the protruding wall.

A volley of shots rang out but these guys were semi-professionals, savvy enough to know, like Reese..silencers prevented a whole lot of unnecessary explanations down the line.

Reese ducked back, allowing the wild shots to snug into the opposite wall with not so much as a muffled thud.

The security personnel’s footfalls were heavy, approaching rapidly. The idiot didn’t even have enough sense to attempt stealth. Maybe he was just confident he had stopped the stupid guy trying to invade his territory. Reese listened intently, timing his reaction perfectly.

The large man wasn’t totally dumb, stopping just short of where he hoped Reese would be.

John could hear the slide of plastic along the rough surface of the wall. The man had his weapon held aloft, the buttons of his jacket scraping along as he went.

Reese tensed his body, stepping quickly forward, his free hand latching onto the guard’s uplifted wrist, his own weapon having been held low, off to the side, merely having to swing a small arc, as he tapped another round into this gentleman’s right thigh..the bullet entering the soft flesh but exiting the now shattered knee bone.  
He stepped over the guy, leaving him to his own self-pity, agony..awashed with blood.

It only took seconds to cross to the decorative doors of Thomas Pain’s flat. Reese checked the elevator directly across from where he stood. It was silent, the doors securely shut to the outside world.

He returned his interest where it was needed, taking a deep, cleansing breath, his hand lying lightly on the ornate handle on the left side of the doors.

A little pressure clicked the door open. Reese sensed a trap so he backed off a bit, calculating his next move.

He shoved hard, executing a commando roll of sorts, just barely dodging two rather well-placed rounds where he should have, by rights..been standing.

His roll ended, as he agilely arose to one knee, weapon trained..and fired.

The last guard toppled to the expensive carpet, his head just clipping the edge of a marble sculpture of Michelangelo’s ‘Pieta.’ Reese assumed it was a reproduction. If anyone had the original, it would have been Finch.

Thomas Cain stood off to the right, his eyes wide and vacant. He stared at the intruder into his home.

Reese was up and stalking toward the man before Cain even had time to register his shock.

He grabbed the man, his arm going about Cain’s throat. He pushed the barrel with the silencer screwed on into the man’s temple, holding him easily, for Cain didn’t even struggle.

“You see how ridiculously simple it is to breech your defenses, Tom?” He drew the hammer back with a deadly ‘click’. 

Cain was a good head shorter than Reese, and far less muscular, so it was rather easy to control the situation..and the victim. Reese pushed a little harder on the handle of the glock, shoving the indentation of the barrel into the sensitive flesh of the now trembling man.

“Big and mean doesn’t always guarantee..professionalism.” Reese reminded, his tone soft..menacing..a gentle growl. 

“L-Listen..if it’s money you..”

Reese tightened his grip..painfully so, causing the man to strangle a bit, gasping for air. “You get one courtesy call…” he hit the guy with the butt of his handle, just enough to bring stars to Cain’s eyes. He allowed Thomas to sink unaided, to the carpet. “One.” 

John waited patiently for the man to come around enough to comprehend. “..Next time..I won’t be so..polite.” he aimed and fired. 

Cain yelled his pain, withering about in agony, holding his leg as best he could, both to stop the profuse bleeding but also, to cradle his injured body part.

“Leave Collins and Davidivitch alone.” Reese advised icily. “And..I leave YOU alone.”

“Jesus God! Call for help!” Cain pleaded, lolling from side to side, his face twisted with pain. 

“The book will not be published.” Reese continued, unhurriedly. “Try to harm them again and the next bullet will be..in your head.” He fired again, shattering the other knee cap.

He left Cain, unmindful of the other man’s pleas for mercy and assistance. John made his way back down the steps, going to the original elevator he had used upon entry into the apartment complex.

He exited into a busy, bustling New York avenue, cars coming and going in a town that never slept. He pulled his coat collar up, blending in time, into the sights and sounds of the city.

***************************************************************************************************************************************************************

 

“Very efficient, as always, John.” Finch had sat through the ordeal, monitoring his friend’s activities, as was his way, instinctively keeping silent, allowing the man to do his thing. “you are free and clear of the situation?”

“In and out, Harold.” Reese slid into the seat of the still warm car. “That’s my motto.”

“All well and good but what do we do about our good friend, Bertineau?” Finch was always one move ahead, his fertile brain actively seeking a solution to the problem presented at any given time. “He will not respond to such basic tactics, will he.”

“You sound like Fusco.” Reese started the engine, checking for oncoming traffic before pulling out into the side street where he had parked the car. “Not trying to get to Bertineau. I just need his cell and the address of his grandsons’ school.”

Finch hesitated. “..We don’t use those tactics, Mr. Reese. It would put us in the same category as..those we..”

“You should know me better by now..Mr. Finch.” Reese hadn’t even pretended ‘hurt’. “Sometimes the illusion of a threat is just as good as the actual deed but..I have other plans for Bertineau.”

The silence continued. Reese’s brow furrowed slightly. “You do trust me not to hurt children, don’t you, Harold?” that thought, had bothered the man.

“Oh..of course.” Finch dismissed curtly. “It isn’t..that.” his mind had been elsewhere and he glanced once again..to the half closed doorway across the hall, at length, pushing back his chair, arising stiffly. His muscles were rebelling. He had used places on his body he had not used in years this night.

He kinked his shoulders left and right, stretching his muscles with knotted fists to either sides of his back. 

“Then..what?” Reese hadn’t liked the sound of Harold’s tone. Reading something beneath the reluctantly stated comment. He drove carefully, keeping the car just under the speed limit but flowing with traffic. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

Finch lost his nerve at the last minute, revising his intended words. He had been standing, looking out unto the silent forest surrounding the cabin, his thoughts troubled. “..I really don’t know where to begin.” He tried the truth, needing to talk to someone he trusted and Reese was an experienced, mature male. Who knew the ways of the world.

Although they had never discussed such things, Harold sensed as much from the way Reese interacted with females in general. The man was never less than confident and straight forward with the gentler sex.

While Harold’s experience in such matters was..lacking. He glanced back yet again, to the door across the way. The house was quiet..

“I may have…” he moved carefully, uncertain of the path he was taking. “Over stepped boundaries..tonight.” Of course he had over-stepped boundaries! What an idiotic statement.

“..We can all be accused of that from time to time.” Reese couldn’t begin to imagine what ‘boundaries’ Finch meant, for he considered the man above mere ‘mortal’ weaknesses. But, he wanted to be supportive, his tone uncensored, calmly reassuring. “..Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Yes, actually.” The answer shocked Finch. He felt terrible, had now since..the incident. “But..I’m not certain I know..how.” he felt his inadequacies deeply.

John sensed how difficult it was for his friend to open up in any capacity. “You have been more than understanding of my particular demons, Harold. I can do no less for you.”

Reese’s non-judgmental reaction helped Harold continue, where normally, he would not have even considered sharing his doldrums. “I’m sure you’ve noticed a..difference in me the last few days.” He would start at the beginning. “There is a reason, probably not an acceptably sane one.” 

Reese could hear the weariness in the man’s tone. He was a little worried, not certain where this was leading.

“You’ve got a lot on your plate.” The younger man maneuvered the car around a slower moving vehicle, his patience at an end where the other driver was concerned. He had followed the guy forever, it seemed. “I would be the last to judge or condemn.” He shrugged mentally. “Which would be ludicrous..a guy like me.”

Finch was touched. “..Thank you, John.” He moved back to the window again, lowering his voice. He took a moment to collect his thoughts. “…You remember..” he closed his eyes, forging ahead. “Grace.”

Reese did. “Has something happene..”

“No..well..” Finch drew in an uneven breath, exhaling a sigh. “Nothing bad, certainly, but..yes.” he lifted his head a tad, gathering his determination. “I check on her periodically..as you know.”

“I kept running tabs on Jessica even though we were supposed to sever all ties with family and friends.” Reese admitted, ‘getting it’ where a woman was concerned. 

“Did you, John?” Harold had not known that fact. “..Well, it is narcissistic at best, our behavior.” That was a given. “But, occasionally, I just needed to..see her.”

Reese nodded minutely, his eyes on the streets he drove. “I know.” He did. 

The silence came but this time, it was not an awkward one for either man.

“She’s seeing someone.” 

Reese could hear the depth of despair in Finch’s words. “..Are you sure?”

“It’s high time, don’t you agree?” Finch tried to make light of the subject, feeling anything but.

Reese wasn’t sure what to say. A woman couldn’t be expected to wait forever and yet..it was clear Finch still held a deep emotional attachment to Grace.

“I felt..betrayed, at first.” The other man confessed hesitantly. “Stupid, really but there you have it.” Finch accepted his fallacies. “She thinks I’m dead..why shouldn’t she..move on with her life?”

Reese pulled the car into the underground parking facility, turning the key off, his mind ticking away feverishly to find a way to help his friend and employer.

“My intelligence dictates..common sense on the matter.” Harold’s hand went to his neckline, his fingers squeezing the bunched up nerves of his muscles, kneading methodically. “My emotional reaction has been…” he let it go, turning from the window, making his way back to his computer desk. “So..tonight, when Corde…Ms. Fellows…” no, that would never do. “…tonight…I..sought comfort..of sorts with..another.”

Reese’s mouth fell agape as the implications of Finch’s words sank in. He sat..stunned..unresponsive..

“It was all rather innocent..at first.” Harold hurried on, afraid he would lose his nerve if he didn’t just get it all out, but more afraid Reese would judge Cordelia Fellows wrongly. “..Certainly so on Ms. Fellows part. She is not to blame in this..farce. I want that understood. It was I who allowed matters to..progress when, by rights..I should have..”

Finch felt as bad as he had when he had allowed himself to be sidetracked and lost Layla that day in the Library. When the baby had escaped his make-shift play pen of constructed books.

“It was..consensual, Harold.” Reese asked the rhetorical question. “Where is all this guilt coming from?”

“Remorse is more apropos.” Finch corrected, seating himself dejectedly. “Does it matter? It was my responsibility. At which, I failed..miserably.”  
He fiddled with a pen he had taken from the desk, turning it over and over in his hands.

“You are an honorable man, Harold.” That much, Reese knew. “A conscientious one.”

“Really, Mr. Reese?” Harold looked up quickly, a burning question hanging between them. “Then why did I allow..what I allowed?”

“Because you’re also..human.” Reese suspected, reminding quietly. “and sometimes..it’s just really important to have some kind of..connection.”

Finch listened intently to the hauntingly soulful words. One could sense the empty hollowness behind the carefully stated confession.

“To..break the cycle. The one we both live day to day..hour to hour, some days.” Reese closed his eyes, his tone suddenly weary. He shook his head, his eyes listlessly searching the shadows of the garage complex. “Is it wrong? To want a little..sanity?”

Finch could only guess at the toll Reese’s job and former life had taken on the man. He was hearing something in the other man’s tone he just did not like. 

“Are you..concerned about that, John?” he had to know. “Your..sanity?”

“..Not so much anymore, since..” Reese smiled mirthlessly. “you found me. It’s..better now, Finch.”

Harold nodded minutely, glad to hear it.

“Can I saymething without pissing you off?” Reese asked.

“Probably not.” Finch erred on the side of caution.

“I would be more worried about you, Harold..” And Reese meant it. “If you had not succumbed to Ms. Fellows..charms.” He told the truth. “I know that’s not what you wanted to hear.”

No..that wasn’t what Finch wanted to hear..nor was it what he had expected to hear.

“..I don’t know how I am going to face her.” God, he dreaded that upcoming moment.

“Are you sorry it happened?” Reese had to get things clear in his head if he was going to offer any constructive assistance. “There is no real depth to what you feel for..her?”

“God no!” Finch was quick to deny such accusations. “Of course I feel something for her! What man would not. She is a beautiful, intelligent young woman..thereby lies the rub, John. I am old enough to be her..”

“Discretely older brother?” Reese kept the smile from his words but his face was beaming. He was happy to hear the horror in Finch’s denial which meant..the man was somewhat ‘involved’ ..a good sign. “But..she’s just not..Grace?” 

“It’s not..that, either.” Finch was having trouble sorting through all the emotions running rampant in his body and mind. “At least, I don’t think it is. Grace and I had..four wonderful years. The best years of my life.”

“And you have known Cordelia such a short time.” Reese was beginning to see the situation. “Don’t want to piss you off again..” he shifted more comfortably in his seat, taking his time in saying the words correctly. “Maybe Grace isn’t the real problem at all. Maybe, Harold..you’re afraid to let your guard down again.”

“What are you talking about?”

“It..hurt. To let Grace go even though you felt you had no other recourse..to keep her safe.” Reese continued. “it had to hurt like hell, and now, Cordelia has apparently kinked your armor..maybe you’re afraid to let her in, thinking..it can only end up like Grace..eventually.”

Finch was given food for thought.

“The truth is, Harold..” Reese reasoned it out. “Ms. Fellows knows a hell of a sight more about your life than Grace ever did, am I right? She has seen some of what we do.” A fact of which Reese was not proud. “She still seems attracted to you..very much so.” That seemed a given in ‘Reeseland’..which brought another smile to his face. “In my book? That’s a ‘keeper’.”

Harold mused overly long, forgetting John was on the other end of the line for a moment.

“You really tap that young ass, Finch?” Reese knew how to put matters back on track, his tone just this side of total approval.

Finch was rudely snapped back from his reverie. “Can you be more vulgar?”

“You better check with Davidivitch on that one.”

“Go back to work, Mr. Reese.”

Finch..clicked off, a little annoyed but then..his memories surfaced as they had continually throughout this night.

Amazing memories..incredible ones. Titillating, irrepressible..erotic..memories.

And for once, instead of pushing them to the back of his mind, refusing access to his neat, orderly universe..the man allowed the visions free reign.


	13. A Swell Time Was Had By All…

“Hello, Mr. Bertineau. Sorry to bother you so late at night, but this is important.”

“..Who is this?” the old gentleman was not a happy camper. “How did you get this number?”

“Who I am, really doesn’t matter.” Reese’s voice was controlled..a silky rasp of it’s former self. “Perhaps you had better listen to what I have to say, however.”

“I don’t really care what you have to..”

“I’m standing across from the United Presbyterian Church..” Reese admired the structure from his advantage point. “Lot of people here tonight. Your grandson, Tyler, seems to be enjoying the school’s ‘Fall Festival’ activities. The kid has a definite future in baseball with that throwing arm.”

John watched the young boy collect his prize for knocking down several metal milk bottles at one of the small booths set up around the parking area, spilling into the opened doorways of the huge church and lining the halls of the sacred building. “You must be proud.”

Reese stepped closer to the noise of the make-shift ‘county fair’ atmosphere. He wanted Bertineau to hear and recognize his present location. Carnival like music blared over the large speakers set up at various advantage points throughout the crowded parking lot. “Very festive here tonight. It’s a perfect night..not too cold. The kids are having a good time.”

“..If you so much as harm one hai..” hate dripped from the other man’s shaky voice.

“This..coming from the man who ordered the deaths of two young women.” Reese did not suffer idiots easily. “I’m not wearing the black hat here..you are.” He spoke succinctly. “Save the empty threats. You and I both know what I am capable of. Surely you’ve heard from your minions, Cain and Harper by now..oh..wait..” Reese corrected himself. “Our Ms. Harper hasn’t made an appearance, has she.”

The line was silent. Which meant the old guy was considering all his options. 

“Do you think I haven’t made provisions for cretins like you?” his voice literally shook with contempt. “My grandsons are monitored twenty-four/seven. If you bothered to look around, you’ll note two rather surly looking private security…”

“You mean Abbott and Costello?” Reese permitted a tiny smile. “They are..indisposed. Laying down on the job, so to speak.”

Terror filled the mind of Justin Bertineau. “W-What do you..want?”

“Take a look at your portfolio, Mr. Bertineau.” Reese suggested. “..Check your stock investments..the ‘Hedge Fund’ account, if you will. I’ll wait. I’m rather enjoying the atmosphere here.”

“I can pay you whatever you…”

“Are you certain? Best not to make any hasty promises you might not be able to keep.” John baited effortlessly. “Check the account, please.”

Bertineau’s fingers shook as he opened his computer system, going to the correct address. He drew in his breath through clenched teeth, reading the balance of his once lucrative investment.

“The funds have been transferred. I imagine you’ll soon be receiving a very nice ‘thank you’ card in the mail. I choose a very fine charitable organization. Don’t bother thanking me, I was happy to do it. Should garner you some pretty good P.R. don’t you agree?”

Surely Finch would not begrudge him stealing a little of the computer genius’ thunder in this case.

“You see? I am beginning to know your weaknesses. I’m going to make it my life’s ambition..to know all there is to know about you, Mr. Bertineau.” John’s tone implied, ‘he’ could deliver on that promise.

“Amanda Collins..Taylor Davidivitch.” Reese stated the terms of his deal in precise, deliberated brevity. “Anything happens to them..it will happen to someone you love. Choose two family members...”

“W-What?”

“You choose them..or I do.” Reese shrugged his well build shoulders. “At least I’m giving you that. Two people you care about. If Collins or Davidvitch are harmed in any way, shape or form..I’m talking accidental drug over- doses..car wrecks..a tragic mishap on holiday, say...anything which ends their existence.” Reese stopped for emphasis. “I will visit upon the people closest to you, what you and your..associates visit upon my friends. I think the Bible calls it…an eye for an eye.”

The silence was quite a contrast between the gaiety of the place in which Reese stood.

“The book will not be published.” John wanted that perfectly understood. “Collins doesn’t even know why she is being targeted..but I will make her awar..”

“Don’t give me that! She knows everything..I’ve seen the synopsis!” the old man sounded his age suddenly. “I didn’t order this..it comes from higher up. Do you think I actually enjoy..what they tell me to do? Your friend is endangering the lives of countless thousands of..”

“Yeah, I’ve heard the speech before.” Reese cut the tirade short. “What…are you talking about?”

“She knows dates and times and events..how does she know all that information if she is as innocent as you claim?” Bertineau changed tactics mid-sentence. “Look..I can try to reason with my people. Give me some time to..”

“You have two hours.” Reese didn’t want anyone ‘regrouping’. “I will find Collin’s source. I will deliver him/her to you if they present a threat. Otherwise..the deal stands.”

“..How can I get in touc..”

Reese clicked the burner phone off. He would toss it beside the roadside on his way home.

The new information was disturbing but he would get to the bottom of the old man’s accusations. 

He thought about contacting Finch but he hesitated. He sensed the other man had a lot of things to ponder this night. Reese could handle the situation that had arisen without disturbing his employer. It’s why he got paid the big bucks, after all.

Still, he was determined to get a good look at Amanda..Cordelia Fellow’s original treatment she had sent to Davidivitch.

Something wasn’t adding up right here. He had work to do.

 

******************************************************

 

Harold Finch pushed back from his desk chair. He needed some tea. He was getting groggy. He glanced at the computer screen before arising. Two Twenty- Seven in the morning.

He automatically went to check the parameter of the cabin, from his advantage point of the upper deck of the home. He walked to the East and West windows, then, satisfied all was quiet, he went for his tea.

It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his ‘home made’ security system constructed earlier in the day. He was, by nature, a cautious man.

He glanced over, on his way down the sturdy stairs, his hand on the wooden banister. He pulled up short, his right foot on the second step, his left, not even having left the upper landing.

Cordelia’s bed was empty. He could see the rumbled covers thrown to the end of the bed. His heart jump started, his pulse reacting violently.

Harold rushed to the room, throwing wide the door.

The woman looked over, from her place by the window.

Harold..breathed a sigh of relief, his body relaxing from the adrenalin rush of seconds before. “Do NOT.. DO that!” he reprimanded, coming further into the room, his mood altering a bit. He studied the girl carefully, picking up on..something indefinable. “…Can’t you sleep..still?”

Cordelia didn’t answer, just returned her profile to the darkness outside the window. She had a small shawl about her shoulders, her feet bare on the hard wood floor, one leg propped on the window seat edge, her knee supporting her weight.

Harold couldn’t help but note how fetching her calf was..bare, sculptured, braced against the seat. She still wore his shirt which showed quite a bit of thigh. He remembered how alluring her flesh felt under his fingertips.

He cleared such thoughts. Standing in the center of the room, he felt rather foolish now. Perhaps he should have..knocked.

“..Did you hear something?” he chanced a closer step, glancing out into the darkness himself. The yard below was empty. Everything seemed alright from his point of view. “What’s going on?” 

He stepped behind her, seeing what she saw. The patch of elms swayed precariously in the strong breeze but all seemed..fine.

“..I couldn’t see anything even if it existed.” The young woman sighed, her hand releasing her hold on the window curtain, allowing it to fall into place. “..I’m nearsighted. I left my glasses in the apartment.”

“Whaaat?” Harold was upset. “Why didn’t you inform me. I will have Mr. Reese go immediately to fetc..”

 

“NO!” she turned abruptly, her tone almost..shrill. “Don’t send him to that..awful place!” it had not been a request. “I don’t want to ever go there again…EVER! And I don’t want anyone else to..”

 

“Alright.” Harold’s calming tone served it’s purpose. “But..you can’t run around without prescription eye wear. We’ll have to see what can be done about replacing your’s..WITHOUT..” he interrupted her intended tirade. “Returning to the apartment.”

Cordelia..settled. “..I can…see.” She frowned attractively, squinting hard at the yard below. “…Sort of.”

Harold smiled, but soon his unease returned. Being in such close proximity with the woman brought back..his time with her..before.

He cleared his throat self-consciously, wondering where to go from here.

“It..doesn’t matter, you know.” Cordelia’s small, child-like voice drifted back, as did her scent. A scent he had been attempting to forget these past few hours.

She turned slowly, the emerald eyes uplifted to his questioning ones. Harold could not find it in himself to dismiss or ignore her. He allowed another smile, his tone gentle and patient when he spoke. “What doesn’t matter..aren’t you cold?”

He glanced down at the shirt which he was suddenly loathe to note..was entirely unbuttoned. She had wrapped it about her small frame, holding it closed with her arms crossed over her breasts. The shawl did little more than cover her shoulders. A portion of the white cotton gaped, showing the flat of her stomach and a patch of the blue panties which he had simply..moved aside, before..as they had been in his way.

“Grace.” Cordelia’s eyes were clear but..troubled. “..Whatever you feel…for her. It’s..alright.”

Finch had stiffened, instinctively closing himself off. Shit! Finch rarely resorted to profanity..but when it was called for..it was called for. She had heard his conversation with..John??

“I will take whatever it is..” she moved..closer. “you wish to give. I won’t ask for anything..more. I give my word to you, Mr. Finch.”

Finch read the sincerity in her eyes, the green pools melting any resolve he had managed to muster.

Cordelia religiously searched the vivid blue eyes, hoping to find something the clear, guarded orbs refused reveal.  
Acutely disappointed, she turned back around, refusing to allow him see her growing distress. She could not reach him. She would never be able to..reach him.

The realization filled her with dread. She glanced back at him, unconsciously transmitting her doubts in the saddened eyes.

Harold Finch knew what the woman was asking, albeit silently. He knew he wanted to sooth her anxiety over the matter, but..

“..What..happened between us, Cordelia.” No, that wasn’t the way to go, judging from the sudden apprehension he read on her face. He halted immediately, seeing her face. The damage was done. She had gotten his drift. She turned her head back to the window, saying nothing.

“Not that I did not..” No. Too little, too late. He had hurt her. Something he never wished do.

He took a moment to rethink his priorities and the situation.

But, Cordelia had been forced to move forward, her pride dictating nothing less. She straightened her form, her head lifting proudly. “I understand what you’re..saying.” she spoke in a husky whisper, that sent shivers up and down the hair on his arms. He shook the sensation. “..It happened and it shouldn’t have.” She nodded her head minutely. “Perhaps we should simply move on. I won’t mention it again.” 

The woman was dying inside. But he would never be privy to that fact.

“..I think I will try to sleep now.”

It was his cue to leave, of course.

Well, Finch had gotten what he wanted. He slowly retraced his steps to the door, his head hung dejectedly. She had handled it better than he had expected, for which he was grateful but at this time..he simply was not ready to..

He turned, looking back at the small figure.

Moonlight streamed into the window, framing the golden blonde hair like a halo.

She appeared an illusively ethereal creature, her beauty astounding him.

Golden curls of silky fluff cascaded down her back, hugging her shoulders lovingly. His shirt covered the slender frame but showed just enough of the tempting cleavage, the creamy tanned thigh..to whet a man’s appetite.

Only now, Harold knew what lay beneath the cotton fabric. He had touched her flesh. He had..felt her warmth..and other pleasant things. 

The soft shawl draped her body romantically. She reminded him of an Eighteenth Century beauty stealing a walk in an English garden with the dark of night surrounding the angelic form.

His decision was made even before he realized. The depressive weight which had descended upon his soul lifted like an early fog on a Scottish moor.

He didn’t even recall retracing his steps but suddenly, he was very close beside her, his gaze skimming the lush beauty of the gorgeous sun-kissed curls.

Finch reached..curling one long strand about his index finger. The texture and beauty enraptured him.

He felt Cordelia stiffen but she remained silent.

So many things rushed through his head..so many. He did not know how to choose an acceptable beginning so he plunged in without preamble.

He continued to play with the strand of hair, concentrating hard on what he was trying to convey. “..The ..accident, left me with many..injuries.” a strangled half-laugh escaped his lips. “As you probably have noted.” Who could not, after all, he mused. But the story had to be told if she was to understand his reasoning. “My leg..my hip.” He lifted a half-shrug. “My back gives me fits.” He could have gone on. “They tell me, I was fortunate to have survived at all.”

Cordelia’s breath escaped her body. She turned quickly about, her eyes large and empathetic. “Don’t say that!”

Harold’s eyes softened a bit and suddenly he could not look at her and say the things he needed her to hear. He peered over her head, looking at the scenery outside the window. “Since the day I was released from..the hospital. No one else has ever seen..” he let it go. “I hired a male nurse during my convalescence.”

Cordelia thought perhaps, the man hated emotional women but..she hurt for him. She bit the inside of her lip to halt it’s tale-tell trembling. “I wish I had been there..with you.”

He snapped his eyes to her face. “What an incredibly stupid thing to say. You would have died.” His tone scalded her. He turned aside..it was too difficult..sharing. He truthfully was rethinking his earlier..

“I wouldn’t have allowed it!” that much he did know.

“I wouldn’t have left you!” she snapped right back.

Harold processed the sullenly stated proclamation. He had searched out the stubborn set of her features, the defiant green eyes, the adorable pout of conviction. “No..I dare say, you probably would not have.”

The silence came.

Cordelia watched the man’s thought processes, marveling at the very essence of restraint he exuded..always. Already, he had dropped back into his ‘controlled’ mode. Nothing seem rattle Harold Finch’s world. Always so self-possessed, sure of his decision in life..never second guessing himself. Or at least that is how he seemed to the girl.

Part of her resented the fact. A larger part, admired it. At this particular moment, she just wanted to slap his arrogant face.

He felt her stare, turning one of his own on her. “..What are you thinking?”

She merely looked aside but he noted a distance between them still. He found he disliked the realization.

“I am reluctant to share my body with anyone..still. I am ashamed of it.” He stated bluntly. “I don’t want you to..see..the scars.”

To his amazement, the woman rolled her eyes, pushing past him, headed for the bed. “It isn’t your leg I’m interested in, you idiot.” She had never heard such a stupid statement. But, she had kept her voice very low, speaking only to herself..she thought.

At first, Harold was shocked by the carelessly stated vulgarity and then..he was not. Holding his need to laugh right in her pretty little face.

He allowed a throaty, low chuckle finally feeling on more familiar ground with the woman.

Cordelia pulled up short, glaring at him..then, realizing the reason for his brevity..blushed profusely.

“Well!” she hurriedly defended herself. “That is just..stupid! You stupid man, you! Nor can it be the real reason you..” this time she thought before she spoke, halting her train of thought instantly.

“Refuse to share your bed?” he asked quietly..too much so, his stare branding her with an inner heat.

Cordelia’s blush deepened and she floundered helplessly, searching in vain for some witty repartee. Her brain failed her miserably, however.

“I have..shared your bed.” He reminded politely. “Of..sorts.”

“What does that mean?” she was incensed by his all too superior attitude and..and his..insinuation. 

“That is the subject we are bandying about, is it not?” he needed clarification, pushing his luck. “If not..feel free to slap my face.”

He spread his hands in a ‘go for it’ gesture.

Cordelia offered a ‘gesture’ of her own. One she had seen Taylor Davidivitch offer to a few overly rude construction workers a couple of weeks prior.

Harold’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “You can take the girl out of the street..” he secretly approved of her ‘spunk’ but his attitude suggested otherwise. “But you can’t take the ‘street’..”

“Ohh, Shut UP!” she yelled at him. “Eat me!” another quaint Davidivitch saying came to mind. 

“I had planned to do so.” He soothed expertly. “You chose another route.”

She..gasped. She was getting good at it. “THAT was an EXPRESSION..that’s all!” she could not believe he had misconstrued such an obviously innocent remark.

“A rather pleasant one.” He conceded. “So much for foreplay on your part.”

Again she ..gasped, even more indignantly, were that possible. “You are purposely being vulgar!”

“I wanted to hold up my end.” He nodded regally.

“No..you are being impossible. You are trying to divert the issue by refusing to discuss it. How dare you think I would care anything about your injuries! Do you think so little of me?”

“and if the situation were reversed?” he debated artfully.

Cordelia..blinked, unprepared for such a question. She suddenly realized…she would NOT want him to see her if she were..

Harold seemed to read her mind. “Then my decision is a sound one after all..yes?”

“NO!” she objected..strenuously but, she knew her case was a weak one after such a ludicrous response. She stared hopelessly at him. “…No.” she pleaded for his assistance. He would know how to fix this. He would know the answer.

Harold Finch..knew the answer. He could, indeed..fix this.

The man moved forward slowly, holding the emerald eyes willfully.


	14. It All Comes Together…

John Reese liked his new 2012 Suzuki Hayabusa. He liked the power the machine delivered between his legs..what man wouldn’t, according to Taylor Davidivitch.

The thought made him smile. A full smile. For there were no people around and he felt comfortable in letting his guard down, just a tad.

He liked the quick responsive thrust of the gears through his hand shifter on the accelerator. Another smile. Maybe Davidivitch had been right..maybe a motor cycle actually was a sexual surrogate for a man.

John liked his ‘ride’ but he never imagined it replacing the real thing.

He also appreciated the fact, it was far easier to lose a tail on a machine that could go almost anywhere a car could not.

John rode around aimlessly for a while, zigzagging city blocks and alley ways at a dangerously high rate of speed, testing his bike, and his mettle. When he knew beyond doubt that he was not being followed, he gunned the massive 82 Cubic Inch, 4-stroke, inline-Four, liquid cooled, 16 valve engine.

Even saying it in his head made his blood race.

The first day he had bought it, straight off the show room floor, and taken it out I-95, opened it up? It had been love at first gear change.

Finch had given him so much more than he ever could have hoped in his other life..beyond the will to live and function as a useful member of society again. To be able to walk in that fancy 5th Ave show room and slap down that platinum credit card..walk out with anything in that place he could ever want?

There was no feeling like that in the entire world.

John pulled up to the safe house, pulling his bike deep into the shadows of the side of the building. He put his lock on the front end, inserting his key, he heard the safety rod slide into place, his thoughts still with the day he purchased his new ‘baby’.

It went beyond a power trip. It just made a guy feel like a billion dollars! It changed one’s perspective in life. Reese couldn’t put words to it, he only knew, it had made him feel so very good.

He would never get tired of that feeling, he didn’t think. Or used to it, probably. He wasn’t Harold Finch. Money had never been a priority with him but it sure as hell had it’s uses, he was rapidly finding out.

**********************************************************

 

Lionel Fusco fiddled with the radio knobs, bringing station after station up on the small appliance sitting on the kitchen counter, over by the toaster.

Davidivitch had bored with watching the boob tube and now sat, in the lumpy cushions of a seventies style wing-back chair that had seen better days. She was thumbing through a current copy of ‘Life’ magazine.

The mellow sounds of the Benny Goodman orchestra bled out of the small, crackling speakers as Fusco zeroed in on the ‘Big Band Sound’ station.

Davidivitch looked up from the pages of the magazine, noting his choice of a channel.

“You like this stuff?” he asked, more to have something to do than any real interest in an answer.

“Actually..” she had returned to her perusal but now, lifted a surprised brow at the man. “I do.”

“Good speakers for such a crummy radio.” Fusco hooked his thumb over to the kitchen counter, where the radio poured out the soulful sounds of ‘Stardust’ .

Davidivitch doubted the man’s statement, was her dubious look anything by which to judge. She let it go though. “My mom loved this music. She played it all the time when I was growing up.”

“Yeah, well..your mama raised you right.” Was Fusco’s opinion.

The announcer came on, but neither really listened to the dour tones of the words he spoke.

“I remember the neighbors not complaining about the music. She was hard of hearing and played it rather   
loudly.” Davidivitch smiled softly. “I ..miss her.”

Fusco was at a loss as to what to say at such times. He was glad when the brass section of Glenn Miller’s band struck up a chord. He knew the song by heart, but..who didn’t. ‘In The Mood…’

Taylor seemed kinda down so..he ‘improvised’..

On impulse, he stepped, crossing the small space separating them. He stopped just short of where she sat, holding out his hand.

Davidivitch looked at it as if it were something alien. “…You’re kidding.”

“You got something better to do?” he halfway taunted.

She chuckled, placing her hand in his, allowing him to assist her up. “Well..let’s see what you’re made of, Detective.” She moved rhythmically, to the swing beat, provocatively sidling up to the man, who grinned over, taking her into his arms, swinging her out and back, then..

They got down to serious business.

Fusco stepped gingerly, his arm going about her waist, his hand holding her’s confidently as he moved to the addictive steps of the lively 40’s big band arrangement.

Davidivitch laughed her delight, for the man was really quite good, floating effortlessly across the linoleum floor, guiding her through the moves of a pretty good imitation of a swing dance.

Fusco knew, for a big man, he was light on his feet. He was part Irish and loved to dance, even as a skinny kid growing up on the wrong side of the tracks, in the South Bronx.

His sense of humor and smart ass attitude landed him a few dates with even the pretty girls in school. He was no wall flower, not afraid to be shot down because he always had an inner confidence, a cockiness some were attracted to. So if a dame didn’t approve of him, what the hell did he care. He knew his own worth.

He met his Ex at a dance..well, more like the corner booth down at O’Hara’s Bar and Grill but, there was a dance floor of sorts and that’s where he wooed her over to his way of thinking.

It had taken a while to get her to put out but at that time, Lionel had thought it worth the effort.

He didn’t know if he truly loved the woman, but the first year or so of the marriage had been ok. And out of that time came the only good thing in his life..his son.

And..the Glenn Miller Band played on…

 

********************************************************.

 

John Reese heard the music as he approached the securely locked door of the safe house.

A dark scowl laced his handsome face. Lionel Fusco would not be so stupid as to let his guard down to such an extent. The hairs on the back of Reese’s neck raised as alarms sounded in his brain. 

He pulled his weapon, his mind sorting rapidly through several different scenarios. If there was someone waiting for him inside..what the fuck had happened to..

Fusco opened the door, his manner rather insolent, his eyes flicking the weapon in something akin to disdain. He offered a sardonic shake of his head but disappeared back inside the flat without a single world of acknowledgement.

Reese slipped his Glock back into his shoulder harness, chancing a glimpse around the wood facing of the door.

Fusco swung Davidivitch out into a graceful twirl, making the woman laugh her delight, then expertly caught her waist on the back beat, returning to the regular footwork of the dance.

Reese was impressed, shutting the door behind him, flicking the lock automatically but his real interest had been with..the couple on the floor.

He folded his arms, leaning back on the kitchen counter, keeping out of the way as Glenn Miller finished up his biggest hit ever, and Lionel Fusco finished up the song with a flourish..dipping Davidivitch’s lithe body, the woman’s deep, throaty chuckle which followed, causing John’s skin to goose flesh with pleasure.

Taylor Davidivitch had a way of making every man in the room feel like he was something special and that sexy laugh only added to the mystique. Even though she and Harold Finch had gotten off on the wrong foot, Reese was pretty sure, given enough incentive, the woman could warm even Harold’s cold, unfeeling heart if she really put her mind to it.

“I thought you two hated each other’s company.” Reese teased in his own way to the newly formed ‘couple’.

“She grows on a guy.” Fusco released his partner, his eyes having a twinkle to them. “like fungus.”

“Beneath that ‘off –the-rack- suit, “ Davidivitch countered, tongue-in-cheek, “is a man of hidden depths. A gal just has to dig deep enough.” She held up a well- manicured hand, examining it critically. “I think I broke a nail.”

The radio offered up yet another melody, making Fusco grin. “Double play.” He knew the station well, smiling his amusement. He gestured, stepping aside, taking Davidivitch’s hand, offering it over gallantly.

The haunting brass section’s rendition of ‘Moonlight Serenade’ filled the air between a breathless Taylor Davidivitch, for Reese’s gaze made something inside her ‘click’ just right, and the exact moment of connection established..was felt by both individuals. 

Reese glanced at the woman’s hand, his perennially sad eyes sparking with an odd inner light as they stared back at the arresting loveliness of the woman’s inquisitive ones.

“Wanna dance, Sailor?” Lionel had gotten her into a playful mood.

John wanted a lot of things at that exact moment but with Fusco in the room, he would have to settle for, the intimacy implied. He slid his palm into the woman’s warm hand. The smaller man stepped aside, taking up residence in Reese’s old spot by the counter adopting the same stance of folded arms and smirking grin.

Davidivitch’s fingers intertwined with John’s cooler ones. He had not worn his gloves on the ride over, the night a chilly one but the wind had felt good. He fitted her body to his form, stepping close, his hand flattening on the small of Taylor’s back, his thigh between her heated flesh.

The soft fluff of her sweater melded to his abdomen, her scent surrounding him as she lifted her arms along his shoulders and about his neckline.

The song was both romantic and totally nostalgic. A beautiful remembrance of another time..another world.

She felt calloused skin against her soft palm, wondering at the enigma before her. Reese’s body was honed to muscular perfection. He didn’t seem the type for physical labor but he had the body of a working man.

Like the men she walked by everyday on her way to her lavishly furnished office. The men that made her day by their wolf whistles and suggestive leers and comments.

Of course, she played her part of the snobbish, uppity rich bitch, sending them an occasional dismissive glance of disdain, but secretly she enjoyed their attention much more than the men she had to associate with through her work arena.

There was something honest and appealing about a man who had to fight every day for survival out there in the cold, cruel world. Someone who knew the value of hard work.

Taylor knew all about the cold, cruel world..she knew how difficult it was, especially for a woman alone, so she could respect the effort it took to keep going under such odds.

Those men never approached her. She had molded herself into a ‘better-classed broad’..as Fusco would put it. But deep down, she was just like those men. She had to fight her way to the top. Nothing had been given over easily to Taylor Davidivitch.

She wouldn’t have had it any other way.

And now, she was held in the strong arms of a man she both admired, respected and found very, very sexually appealing.

She could feel the power of those arms about her body, but the gentle way Reese held her hand, his thumb rubbing the inside of her palm with decidedly sensual strokes from time to time, made her want to plant a passionately seductive kiss on that curved mouth with it’s five o’clock shadow just above the full upper lip.

She lay her forehead along the chiseled outline of his strong, masculine jaw receiving a slight prickle of chafe for her efforts. She didn’t mind one bit, snuggling into the moment even more so, moving closer still to his tall form.

The warmth of his body seeped into her soul. She closed her eyes, savoring the beautifully ethereal sounds of Glenn Miller’s timeless song.

Her head filled with visions of a past time. A time when men were different. A better time, some said. The world was at war back then but out of that conflict came a different breed of men.

Responsible, caring, mature men, not afraid to commit, facing the uncertain future with confidence and an inner strength borne of having faced hardships unimaginable to any who had not been there. Who had not seen the killing fields.

John Reese was like those men, she knew he was.

But, there was another side to that type of man, as well. She felt the evidence forced suddenly upon her consciousness.

Taylor stiffened, jolted from her doldrums. She..moved away from that part of his life. She covered the fact well, smiling up at the intent, puzzled eyes that robbed her mind of any real sane thought. “…We’re neglecting the ‘Pillsbury Doughboy’.” 

Her voice was husky with emotion as she pushed fully from John’s embrace.

She crossed to Lionel, lifting her arms in open invitation.

“Eat me.” The smaller man suggested, grinning at the woman, but took her in his arms, finishing the song and the dance.

Reese was left baffled and a little hurt by her sudden withdrawal for he had felt the exact moment when things had changed, also sensing…the reason behind the woman’s abrupt change of mood.

He hadn’t pretended he did not enjoy holding her, trying to transmit his feelings silently through gentle, unobtrusive gestures..the light brush of his fingertips across her back, the touch of his hand in her’s..the subtle leaning into her space, his body used as an instrument of seduction, his arms systematically tightening about her small waist, centering her on his ever growing awareness of her sensuality.

“I love this old stuff.” Taylor’s tone, while light, hid the pain in her heart.

“That’s because you’re an ‘old’ broad..remember?” Lionel needlessly reminded, sensing the woman’s real mood. “But, I’ve seen worse lookers.”

“Now, Fusco..you’re going to turn my head with such praise.” Taylor chided scoldingly. “ We’re established a perfect working repore, let’s not mess with it.”

She leaned in, kissing his cheek in open affection. “I have to piss.” She made a discrete exit, fleeing to the safety of the bathroom, unable as yet to meet the other man’s gaze..one she had felt on her profile now from the moment she had left his sphere of influence.

Knowing Reese, however..there was no need to be concerned. He would file this under ‘so what’..those incredibly sexy eyes, the ones that could turn her inside out with one long, smoldering glance..would be clear and unreadable. Any real emotion..if he, indeed, could feel any at all..would be hidden safely away.

Fusco felt no qualms about checking out John Reese’s reaction though, having witnessed the imperceptible ‘incident’ taking place. And man enough to understand the nuances of a male/female interaction of such magnitude. He allowed the silence to build, not sure he should butt in, but Reese seemed so..lost, maybe. ‘Something’.. that made Lionel very uneasy, so much so..he had to state his observations.

“You know?” he frowned over to the taller man. “There are times you seem halfway human.. ‘normal’..right?” Was that a shitty way to say it? Fusco rethought his approach. “Maybe not..that.” he grimaced slightly. “But..the truth is..you’re not.” He amended yet again, not liking the sound of that statement once made either. “In that..you’re not like the everyday ‘Joe’..not any more. You can play the part.” Lionel granted.

Reese stood, grimly listening to the assessment that he could find no fault with so far.

“Like with Davidivitch..just now.” Lionel shrugged his stocky shoulders, moving his frame from one foot to the other, his hand gesturing out to his side from time to time as he spoke. “You have ‘normal’ moments..just like everyone else.”

Reese thought about being pissed, but..he wasn’t. He knew truth when he heard it these days. “..They mean..everything.” he admitted quietly, the husky whisper almost torn from his throat. He lifted an open, searching gaze, uncertain if he should have trusted Fusco to the extent he had.

Lionel nodded slowly. “..You know why she did it.” He appreciated the slight bending of Reese’s stance..the unspoken rule between them. Because, to Fusco, it was as plain as the classically scultured nose on the other guy’s face.

“She felt the gun.” Reese’s mouth tightened morosely.

“Yeah.” Fusco dismissed, annoyed for some obscure reason. “But, moreso..she had to come to grips with what it meant.”

“I know that, Lionel!” Reese snapped, moving restlessly away from the conversation and the reality of the situation.

“That there might be some night that you wouldn’t come back from that other place..a place in which she can never have a part.” Fusco explained his meaning, ignoring the man’s mood. “But you know what?” he approached Reese cautiously, his eyes warily watching the unpredictable man. “I think..if you let her in? She just might surprise you.”

Reese cut the man a cold stare.

Lionel had said his piece, going to gather his coat from the back of the couch. “Dames..they think too much. Spoils everything.”

Reese’s hand lashed out, catching the Detective’s sleeve as Lionel passed.

Fusco scowled at the contact.

“Lionel?” John wasn’t sure what he wanted to say but he knew..he had to respond somehow to the gesture offered.

“What?” the burly guy demanded a reply.

“… … … Thanks.” Reese offered quietly.

Lionel shrugged into his coat for Reese had released his arm. “Yeah, well..I got a life. I’m outta here.” He exited the apartment without a backward glance.

Reese hesitated, searching out the still closed bathroom door just across the hall way to his left. Had he truly misconstrued Davidivitch’s reaction before?

Before he knew it, he was crossing the floor, suddenly finding himself standing on the outside of the closed door. He gathered his courage, tapping lightly, asking the only lame thing to come to mind. “..Hey.” he moved closer to the weathered wood. “What are you doing in there?” he rolled his eyes, hearing just how stupid the remark had been, scrambling for something more coherent.

Davidivitch pulled her eyes from the mirror which she had been staring dejectedly into, muttering her depression. “Staring at an idiot.” But she raised her tone, forcing a cheerful response. “Hold your horses, Cowboy..let me wash up.”

She turned on the faucet, hastily cleansing her hands and drying them on the towel provided by this fine establishment. She squared her shoulders, checked her ‘look’..drew in a deep, cleansing breath, then..stepped to the door, opening it with a flourish, her smile fixed and bright.

 

AUTHOR’S NOTE: MY APOLOGIES TO ALL THE FINCH FANS WANTING A LITTLE INTERACTION WITH CORDELIA. I HAVE WRITTEN THREE DIFFERENT VERSIONS OF AN INTERFACING AND THEY ALL WERE CRAP, AS FUSCO MIGHT SAY. I AM DILIGENTLY DETERMINED TO WIN OUT OVER OUR LITTLE ‘MACHINE MAKER’..SO BEAR WITH ME. THE NEXT CHAPTER IS DEFINITELY GOING TO GET FINCH LAID..ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. ANYONE KNOW WHERE I CAN GET THOSE NEEDLES THE GERMAN GUY USED ON REESE?????? IT LOOKS LIKE THAT WILL BE THE ONLY WAY TO PREVAIL OVER OUR RESIDENT GENIUS.


	15. What's It All About, Alfie?... SEMI-ADULT THEMES..NO MINORS PLEASE.

Harold Finch moved ever so carefully forward, uncertain in his own mind as yet, if he should even proceed with this incredulous..farce.

And yet, the alternative was unthinkable, apparently, since he could not simply, let the subject rest. He had not been able to walk away.

He watched Cordelia Fellows warily, although his expression was quite neutral, carefully masked from any scrutiny from the gravely quiet woman who stood before him. He imagined, she was feeling many of the emotions he was.

He didn't envy her that.

The emerald eyes blinked up at him solemnly. She seemed to be waiting for something of monumental importance to occur.

Indeed, Cordelia was overly anxious, her mood verging on apprehensive. She waited on pins and needles for his decision. One she knew she must live with regardless of the outcome.

She had always guarded her heart most diligently but there was just something about this man standing so very close now, that..shattered her carefully constructed protective walls. His scent surrounded her mind, filling her with delectable visions of..soft candle light and nights on sandy beaches.

She could not have pin-pointed a particular time when the emotional attachment had begun. Cordelia was 'aware' of Harold Finch from the first moment of meeting face to face. She could not think of that time without being mortified.

That he so closely mimicked the traits of her own creation, Garrison Starling, had to be a total coincidence, surely.

Besides, Cordelia Fellows had always been able to step outside her own creative process, viewing any story she wrote with total objectivity.

The last idea she envisioned had been approached differently, it was true, so perhaps that had something to do with what was happening to her now.

"You are shivering." Finch had noted long since, the fact irritating him. "Please." He motioned for her to cross to the bed. She seemed not to understand his drift for a long moment, looking forlornly at the structure but then she..moved off, at length, sitting on the side of the bed, pulling the shawl closer about her small frame.

Harold motioned yet again, for her to turn about, lifting the covers, tucking her feet into the bundled fluff after a fashion.

Cordelia allowed the 'stall tactics' but a burning question stood between them. She grasped the blankets to her abdomen, her hands knotted tightly, her stare an abject one. "…Do you like me at all, Mr. Finch?" and even though it had been stated ever so simplistically, that was the exact crux of the matter for her.

The emerald eyes flicked his face urgently, awaiting his verdict.

Harold sat on the side of the bed, taking his time in answering such a direct inquiry. He looked at her almost blankly. "…Yes, actually." He nodded as if the realization shocked him. "I do. In a bizarre, bohemian sort of way." That much was true, he supposed. Then he rephrased, for it had sounded too flippant and he had not meant to be so, for she had approached him in all sincerity, he thought.

"..Perhaps it is wrong of me to admit such a failing." He conceded as much, feeling his inadequacies…deeply. He checked on her again, but he could not get a good 'read'. He continued. "..You are vital young woman who should not be wasting her time and energies on someone like me.." he silenced her objections with a lifted hand. "But..I am very pleased that you seem wish do so. If that is ..wrong, then," he shrugged minutely. "there you have it."

Cordelia was..stunned, unsure of what he had just said..or what it meant in the larger scheme of things. She simply did not trust the man as yet, not with her inner most emotions. Was he playing one of his insidiously nefarious mind games with her? She had watched him do it with others.

Harold straightened his frame, his hands placed on his knees. Sitting facing her was kinking his back. He welcomed the reprieve, lifting his head a tad, staring off into space. He missed his glasses which he had left on the computer station stand.

The room was dark, lit only by the shaft of moonlight streaking across the carpet directly in front of him. He studied the patterns of fleur de les prints on the thick rug for a long moment. "..Grace.."

Cordelia moved imperceptivity, at his side in a fraction of a second. She placed her fingers to his lips which startled the man. Finch searched her out instantly, leaning away from the contact, not that it had offended him, not in the least.

He could still feel the imprint of the warm appendages, in fact. He stared at the pretty face, which was no hardship, certainly, his infamous mind, blank.

"Grace isn't here, Mr. Finch." Cordelia spoke quietly. "I am and I'm glad. If that is wrong..then, there you have it."

Finch processed all she had said but more so, the implications of such a softly stated response.

"Don't you think it's odd." He wondered over the dilemma. "Referring to me in such a fashion..when we are.." he motioned with his head minutely. "As we are?"

Cordelia scowled darkly. "..No."

"Don't you like my given name?" He pondered her reaction, intrigued by it.

The woman seemed hard pressed to answer such a question but in the end.. "It..doesn't suit you."

Finch continued to stare at her, his chaotic mind ticking away. "How perceptive of you. I thought it most apropos, you see..at the time."

Cordelia was confused. "I'm not sure I understand what you.."

"..It isn't my true name." Harold Finch..mulled over the fact thoughtfully for a long beat.

The woman seemed accept such a statement without reserve.

"..Aren't you going to inquire as to what it might be?" he leaned back slightly, searching her out, his expression a bemused one.

She shook the long tresses, the silk flowing gently about her temples and cheek lines. "You're..Mr. Finch. Which is..as it should be."

She sit back on her hunches, taking the blanket between her fingers, pleating and re-pleating the cotton sheet as she spoke. "Why did you..do what you did?" she had to know, lifting her eyes but quickly lowering them from the intense stare that robbed her of any real conviction she had possessed to that time. "..I mean." She quirked her head slightly, swallowing hard. "..Before."

Finch did not pretend to misunderstand. "Do you wish the truth or simple platitudes. I am rather good at both, actually." And, he was. But, he hoped she would choose the former, for he didn't want to go that route with this woman. "..I have found, in past dealings with the female persuasion, that it is advisable to..placate. That no one really wishes the truth concerning such things."

Cordelia appeared calmly collected however, the large eyes refusing to look at him just yet though.

"Delia..you are a beautiful woman. Any male in his right mind would not be adverse to the attention you lavished upon me." He told his side of the tale. "It has been a very long time since anyone of your caliber has even noticed me, let alone..." he thought it best not to put things into actual words in this case.

She frowned over at him but quickly enough, went back to her pastime of pleating the bed sheet. Was he lying to her? Who would not notice a man like Mr. Finch. She shifted wary eyes but then..dropped them back to her hand's activities.

"Of course, It was most pleasant an interval. But also.." he would have to admit the other side of the coin if he were to make his point. "it was also rather daunting for a man of my age."

Cordelia's scowl increased but she remained silent.

"Your..attentiveness raised questions to which I had no answers." Finch moved cautiously, not wishing to offend or alienate but he could be no less than totally honest with her. "It is not often I find myself in such a quandary. I found myself..responding to a situation that by rights, I should have denied vehemently. The reality of it all has proven..much more than I anticipated. At least." He touched her hand which was still very busy with her pastime, stilling the movements. "On my part."

"I..don't understand what you're saying." She wailed her misery. She simply was not intelligent enough, she supposed.

"You do, you are simply being obstinate." Finch suspected. "I am saying.." he rephrased tactfully, most cautiously. " What should have been irrevocably 'wrong'..suddenly had never felt so..'right'." He searched her out again, if only to read her countenance.

Cordelia lifted her head, her gaze an unsettling one.

"I do not profess to understand it. I merely relate..what I am experiencing." Finch finished wearily. "You challenged me..unconsciously, granted..and in my attempt to prove my..worthiness, if you will." No, that wasn't the correct phrase he sought. "Or it simply could be 'ego'...? Whatever label you wish to put to my actions.." he dismissed irritably with a curt wave of his hand. "Reprehensible, certainly." He would acknowledge. "Has led me ..us, to this point in time. I am rather damned if I do and damned if I don't."

Cordelia blinked, processing.

"For however long you wish to play out this..improbably situation." Finch brought her hand to his mouth, gently, lightly..caressing the cool fingertips with his lips, hesitating of long duration over the smooth flesh. "Be it known, please..that I no longer hold any real objections. None which I cannot..overcome, at least. If that is what you truly wish, I mean."

The girl..drew in a shaky breath. "I..I d-don't.." she halted abruptly. "What..are you s-saying?" She gripped his fingers tightly, unaware of the pressure she exuded on the thick appendages.

"Stop being obtuse." He commanded. "This is difficult enough without having to.." He snapped.

"YES!" Cordelia whispered hoarsely, choking out the reply. She threw herself forward, her arms flung about his neckline in a death grip, her eyes closed tightly, biting her bottom lip tersely. "Y-YES! Mr…Finch!" she hurriedly concurred, her tone one of absolute desperation. "NO..you d-don't have to. NEVER! NO! Of COURSE..YESSS!"

Finch..settled his nervous system, his hands holding her form almost sedately at first. He allowed the moment to further itself, his body relaxing it's rigid stance after a few seconds under her influence. Slowly, his hands spread about her shoulders, then, eased effortlessly around the small waist.

Cordelia felt his acceptance, melting into his warmth, her arms tightening even moreso, were that possible. ".. ..Yes." she whispered her gratitude to a benevolent God, holding onto her Universe for dear life.

Finch savored the feel of the young body in his arms, enjoying her scent..the softness of her hair as it laced the tops of his hands. He pondered his present mood, finding it..surprisingly..inoffensive.

"It has been a very long time since I..did this sort of thing." He strived for a lightness he did not feel. "Perhaps you should offer up some form of instructions on how we must proceed from this point on."

She blushed completely, burying her face into his neckline, her soft breath caressing his skin. "I only wanted..you not to go..before." she stated haltingly. "I awaken and..you were..not here."

"I thought it best..not to be." He turned his head, moving her slightly back that he could see her face but she refused the effort, snuggling to his neckline yet again.

"Why?" she was devastated by his words. "Why would you think such a thing, Mr. Finch? When you are here, I..I'm..not afraid. The memories aren't there."

"..I took advantage of you, Delia." He sighed heavily. "You are aware of that as much as I." his thoughts centered on the latter part of her statement. " Perhaps Mr. Reese should offer over self-defense instructions to you and Ms. Davidiv.."

"I wanted you to.." she stuttered slightly. "I..wanted to be close to you."

"There is 'close'..as now." He indicated, his hand massaging her lower spine absently. "Which is acceptable. And then..there is what I did, which is..not."

"I..liked what you did." She closed her eyes, remembering how he had made her feel, whispering huskily.

"Well, of course you did." Finch shook his head woefully. "I planned for just such an eventuality. And then..I deliberately executed my hypothesis. Any male worth his salt could ..interest a young female fresh out of the.." how to put it delicately. "garden, as it were."

"I am not..that!" she pouted, disliking that he thought she might be… 'that.'

"Really." He didn't seem all that impressed with her credentials. "Hummm."

"I have had..lovers!" she pulled away, protesting her rights, her hands still on his shoulders.

"..I see." he nodded amiably. "My mistake."

"You don't believe me!" She removed her hands from his shoulders.

"Why would I disbelieve you?" he asked politely.

"Do NOT use that tone with me!" she demanded. "I know that..tone!"

"To which 'tone' do you refer?" he asked patiently.

"I will have you know, that I have men in my apartment..continuously!" she fought back instinctively. "I..I am a ..a highly sought after woman! I..my books are read by world renowned..men! Who…who ..like me very much!"

"Such as John Reese." Finch helped out.

"No..not ..him! But others!" Cordelia snapped. "Lots and lots of..others! I don't even HAVE a garden, for YOUR information, Mr. Harold Finch and I certainly do not need YOU to…eh…plant anything for me! I have soooo many other men who do that sort of ..thing..! LOTS!"

"I am rather sorry to hear it." Finch nodded slowly. "I had so been looking forward to sowing a few..seeds in your patch."

Cordelia..balked at such a statement. "…What?"

"That was a metaphor. I thought we were indulging." Harold lifted a scolding stare. "Are we done being stupid?"

Cordelia..pouted. "You..hurt my feelings." She tried to explain.

"By insinuating that you were a virtuous young woman?"

She…continued to sulk. "You made it sound..not good."

"Well, it IS good." The man stated emphatically. "And it pleases me that you are..virtuous."

Cordelia lifted doubtful eyes, moving..closer. "But..am I?" she fretted. "I..I..let you..before, you know?"

Finch's gaze dropped of it's own accord to the slightly gaping front of his neglected shirt. "Yes." He ..remembered well. "..You did."

"Doesn't that make me..unvirtuous?" her face cringed up a little, endearingly so. "Is there such a word?"

"Not in your Universe, Delia." Finch smiled over at the perplexed young lady. "but..with careful instruction and patient guidance..perhaps we can alter that anomaly."

Cordelia was still overly concerned about her grammatical miscalculation. "..Invirtuous?..nonvirtu.."

"Would you enjoy removing my vest, do you think?" he had often visualized such a moment, after all.

She shifted absent eyes. "Nonvirtuous." She nodded. "That's it, isn't it, Mr. Finc.. … …w-what?" the green eyes examined his physique, blinking a flush away.

Finch shook his head to clear it, unfastening the three buttons of his tweed over coat, shrugging out of the warm material. He lay the item carefully aside on the stool by the bed.

"I wish I had my lap top..it has spell check." She drew her gaze from the neatly stacked vest.

"How wonderful for you." Finch slid the knot from his tie, taking it from his neck, hanging it on the end of the bed post. "Rules of engagement must be established."

Cordelia was lost. She stared at the tie on the end of her bed. "What are you..doing?" Harold Finch was never less than perfectly attired! "Why..did you.." she motioned aimlessly to..the vest and tie.

"Close the shirt, Cordelia." He slipped his shoes off. The Italian leather ones he had paid a ridiculous amount for.

She gasped, having looked down, blushing fully, grasping the two sides of the material hastily, mortified. 'OHHH!"

The emerald eyes flashed an abject apology his way.

"Mr. Finch!" she breathed her awe. "I…I didn't mean for you to.." her eyes flew to the tie and the vest. "I..I only wanted you to lay with m…not LAY WITH ME..as in…LAY..ohhhhhh GOD!" she realized the situation..finally! "AS IN…HOLD ME..only..hold me as..in…with..clothes on.. As in..with your vest and tie..still ON! I'm not..saying.. …that man doesn't come when you..are near but.."

She was humiliated and..desolate. "OH, GOD..you must think I am..well..not that I didn't want..you know. I do..I..I mean, I WOULD..under the right circumstances which..would be when YOU say..they are right, of course. But.."

"This is really just so sad." Finch decided with a finality the girl did not like at all.

"I do WANT to…" she amended hastily, holding out her hands in the Universal sign of 'peace'.. "Of COURSE I want..that! But, you're not..ready for..it's just not …eh…" her eyes kept flashing to the vest and tie. "The time is .."

"Believe me, Cordelia." Harold Finch was above all else..a patient man. But at this exact moment? "I AM…ready.." he prompted almost angrily. "And willing AND able. As I shall dutifully ..demonstrate, if you will just kindly..shut the hell up and..get in the freaking bed!" he stressed the last two words, his frustration most apparent suddenly, waving his hand irritably toward the offending structure, much as he had done once before when John Reese refused to even try out Finch's gift offering of 'the cushion'.

Cordelia…yes…gasped. "You said…freaking!"

"You would make a Saint say..freaking!" Harold was decidedly positive. "Do you..or do you NOT…wish to proceed in this endeavor?"

The question threw the woman but moreso..it stunned her into complacency.

"WELL?" Harold Finch actually…had raised his voice.

".. .. Yes." She answered respectfully, swallowing hard.

Finch…calmed. He rubbed his fingers over his eyes. "God, I am getting a headache." He suddenly realized.

"NO!" Cordelia was devastated. "Don't! Not NOW, Mr. Finch!"

The absurdity of the outburst and the meaning behind it, brought a reluctant grin to Finch's face. He lifted a subdued stare, having shaken his head minutely. He held out his hand. "May I have my shirt back."

Cordelia held tight to the garment for a brief second, her face comically aghast but then..she 'got it'…ever so quickly removing the cotton garment, tossing it aside. Then going hastily to fold it with shaking hands, and lay it properly on the stool next to his vest. She turned anxious eyes his way, holding her breath.

Finch's eyes swept her nudity, what could be seen, for her long hair hid the full crests of her small but perfect mounds for the most part, having dropped his hand to his side.

He stepped slowly, his hand lifting the light strands covering her right breast. He lifted the fluff, bringing the fragrant tresses to his nostrils, the back of his hand gently swiping one pert, raised nub, making Cordelia's nipple stiffen for attention.

She closed her eyes, stifling a quivering moan.

Harold's eyes devoured the beauty of her body, his free hand curving to her hip, sliding over the satin of the blue lace panties. He hooked his thumb into the band, his index finger sensually massaging the golden fluff of her sparse pubic hair.

Cordelia melded her body to his, her arms reaching about his neckline, her mouth lifted invitingly for his kiss. Which..he refused offer just yet.

She opened the lovely orbs, confusion written on the soft, gentle face. But, soon enough, she had other things with which to ponder upon.

"This is rather.." he moved his finger gently, ever so lightly, back and forth over the springy coarseness he had discovered beneath the lace fabric. "different." He could feel the slick smoothness of carefully shaved flesh on either side of the heated flesh.

Cordelia sighed, breathing out shakily, again, searching awkwardly for his lips..her hand covering his, her slender fingers intertwining with his thicker ones, holding him to his more than pleasurable pastime. She stiffened, her face allowing her discord. "Why are you refusing to..kiss me?"

"Because." He explained patiently, Finch nuzzled her cheek line in open affection. "You wish me to kiss you, Cordelia. Oft times, it is much more pleasant to deny one's desires than it is to simply give in to the…"

Cordelia's mouth pressed to his, her lips flowering into full passion within seconds, her arms securely laced about his neck. He could feel the imprint of the small orbs of her breasts crushed to his shirt front, her body warm, filtering through the material of the fabric.

Harold returned the warm pressure, tightening his arms about her waist, allowing the very tip of Cordelia's tongue to slip past his lips, to mingle lovingly with his for one brief moment of delightful 'play'. She pulled back, flushing slightly for her own boldness.

"I..could be mistaken in my assumption on that issue, of course." Finch wasn't above revising his beliefs in this instance. He lowered his head yet again, taking his time..his mouth fitting to the woman's expertly, the kiss gentle and coaxing a response from Cordelia that left the man strained and ..receptive.

He broke the contact, his gaze a restless one.

Harold glanced down, his palm flattening over the taunt flatness of her stomach. He moved his free hand behind her back, sliding it over the firm slope of her curvaceous buttock, his fingers traveling the womanly line of her body, from her hip to the slight dip between the back of her leg and her bottom.

Cordelia squirmed, pressing closer to the man, her lips constantly seeking out the moist heat of Harold Finch's mouth.

Her arms refused allow him leave her influence which was just fine with the man.

Their gazes met often and held steady, Harold's more so than Cordelia's but..she offered tentative, wistful smiles from time to time, encouraging his exploration of her form, her own hands guiding and helpful if he lingered too overly long in any given spot.

She was wanting more intimacy, which Finch fully understood, but he was determined to move this along stage by stage. Just as he was fully intending to enjoy each and every second afforded him.

The girl traced a loving finger down his tapered side-burns, touching his lips irreverently before lifting her mouth to caress the rather thin, nondescript mouth with a brooding intensity which robbed Finch of his normal, controlled response.

Her tongue mingled with his, causing his insides to flutter to vivid life, and a low moan of acquiescence to escape his throat. Without thought or any real direction, his hand found it's way to the small orb of her breast, skimming over the satin of her flesh, his fingers curving to.. kneading, squeezing..hefting the perfectly shaped mound to his heart's content. His thumb rubbing erotically over the sensitive little bud begging for his attention. He was fast becoming acquainted with it's shape and size, his actions bringing soft mews of delight and growing excitement from Cordelia.

She insisted he transfer his touch to the opposite breast. He could live with the bold move, he found.

Her squirming was becoming more pronounced. It was most distracting to Harold's thought processes. He thought once of putting a little distance between them but he knew, he simply did not have that type of will power any longer.

He wanted to be close to her. He enjoyed the freedom of being allowed access to her body, of touching her any place he pleased, just because he could.

Her warm fingers trailed along the rim of his ears, causing ripples of delight to run his forearms. She snuggled up against him at every advantage point, seemingly craving the feel of his ever hardening arousal, her thigh rubbing sensually along it's length from time to time, which caused him to lengthen..thicken even more so.

Cordelia ran slow, methodical kisses along his jaw line, her tongue playing flittingly in the indentation of the cleft of his chin.

"Stop it." He moved away, scowling for such vulgarity but she didn't seem to mind his surliness.

"Make love to me." Cordelia pleaded breathlessly, tugging on his shoulders, moving slightly in his embrace, her scowl matching his suddenly.

"I am making love to you." He was momentarily confused. Wasn't he doing it correctly?

"Noooo." She tugged more insistently and he caught her meaning. "Here." She had motioned behind her to the small bed.

Finch glanced at the structure. "..Soon."

"NOW!" she..squirmed up against him provocatively.

His eyes dropped to where their bodies made contact and stayed for a moment. But then..the man lifted a stubbornly set gaze. "…Soon."

Cordelia groaned her misery, her head falling back, the beautiful hair touching his forearm, the one he held firmly about the small of her waist. "I don't want…to wait."

She seemed pretty adamant on the subject.

"Then..don't." he was totally willing to compromise on that one.

Cordelia opened her eyes, baffled by his words, clearly.

"I enjoy…" he thought perhaps he might. "..Watching." The man was stunned by his own boldness but the more he thought about it..

She didn't blush like he assumed she might. "I want to do it..with you."

He leaned slightly, his tone brisk. "Then..have a little patience."

The woman's heart felt distraughtly frayed groan made him smile..just a wee bit, though.

This was proving much more amusing than first he had envisioned.


	16. The Boys Are Back In Town… MATURE SUBJECT MATTER.

John Reese did not smile back at Taylor Davidivitch. He didn't especially feel like smiling at the moment. "..I can't be..what you need." He blurted without preamble. "I'm not..normal."

Davidivitch's smile faded in natural order. "Well, angel, if you were. I would probably not give you a second look." She knew how she worked. "Maybe a 'look'.." her eyes swept his body, a secretive smile playing about her luscious lips for a brief second. "Who are we kidding..but, as for the rest?" she crinkled her nose. "You are what you are." She shrugged. " 'Normal' is highly over-rated in my book."

She crooked her head to one side. "You giving me the boot?" she wondered over his mood and the confrontation. "Is this your way of saying..Sayonara, Muchacho?"

John was caught off-guard by the defensive tactic for a second.

"Your Mr. Finch would have shown more class, John." She half teased. "Color me..disappointed."

"No." Reese curtly waved a hand. "I..I don't know where ..we are." He tried again, the soulful eyes attempting to read her inner most thoughts. "What you..expect of me."

"Does it matter?" Taylor's voice was soft, full of compromise. "Because..it does to me."

Reese breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing a bit in his stance and, his approach. "..It matters, baby."

Taylor's insides turned to mush. He had used an endearment but moreso, he had used it so..off-handedly, as if, it was sorta natural to him now..if only in his own sphere of thinking. Lots of men had used that term..most she had found offensive and had told them so. 'I have name..use it.' But when John Reese said it?

She smiled happily. "Well.. 'Precious'." she could throw them out there as well. "I'm ever so pleased to hear it. About..before." she wanted to explain. "It had nothing to do with..your chosen vocation. You do KNOW that, right?"

John had not known that..not at all.

"I don't care what you do for a living." She dismissed airily. "If it makes you content, then I accept all that you are, or will be. The problem lies with me. Not you or your job. I have to consider the future. In that..one without you, if the unthinkable occurs. I'm not sure." She still wasn't. "If I could survive that."

Such honesty amazed the man standing before her, in that cramped, claustrophobic hallway.

"There is something there, for my part." She wasn't a teenager, this was not high school. "I want to pursue it, of course, but honesty? Being close to you each day is making me think more and more about..having you around for a while. And I'm just not sure where that would lead..for either of us."

The woman leaned against the door frame of the bath room, studying the enigma before her. "You probably already feel trapped what with a woman seemingly conjuring up a stratagem for catching and tricking an unsuspecting guy like you into her diabolical clutches." she knew how such statements usually made her feel. "A fate much worse than any of those thugs out in the world could devise for you, hummm" she drew in breath through her beautifully white teeth. ".. John?"

She chuckled throatily. "Relax, Tonto. I'm not the marrying kind."

"I know that."

She nodded, satisfied. "But I do like you..a lot. And I am not adverse to ..getting to know you better… a lot."

Reese's good mood had returned. "You wanna finish that dance?"

"Depends on your definition of..dance." she walked forward, gently removing his leather coat from his shoulders. Davidivitch liked the feel of the muscled biceps under her fingertips as she allowed the heavy coat to dangle in her free hand but her right, trailing a searing path down the entire length of his powerfully built arm.

John took the coat from unresisting hands, tossing it unto the back of the couch as he guided her into the living area, but..they didn't make it that far.

Davidivitch pulled him close, her mouth parting his unresisting one passionately. In seconds, heat rushed between them..a physical need that transcended common sense or even decency.

John pushed her to the nearest 'platform'..lifting her bodily unto the counter of a convenient kitchen surface, stepping between her legs, the fabric of his jeans rubbing the insides of the woman's thighs as he shoved his hardness into her Valley of Eden, his mouth catching her's mid- pout.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harold Finch had come up behind his prey, quietly..inoffensively. He allowed his hands to spread upon the curve of Cordelia Fellow's hips, then move ever so slowly, out..and down.

Across the flat of her stomach, his thumb trailing a quick silver circle about the tiny indentation of her belly button.

Cordelia leaned her head back, resting it on his shoulder, her back molded to the warmth of his body. Her small hands covered his, but did not guide or direct, merely held tight to his wrists after a fashion.

Finch stepped closer, his hardness curving to the firmness of her buttocks.

Cordelia moaned softly, squirming slightly to better feel the moment.

He nibbled contentedly on the fragrant flesh of her neck and shoulder line, gentle, open mouthed kisses, the very tip of his tongue flicking from sensitive spot to sensitive spot, his breath heating her vulnerable skin as he went.

He was torn, so he hesitated, the decision a tough one. In the end, his hands went in opposite directions, each taking an agonizingly slow trek to it's destination.

He felt Cordelia's fingers tighten on his wrist as his hand covered one full, sloping mound. He liked the feel of the small but ample breast, squeezing the plumpness lovingly. He watched his handiwork as his fingers played, teasing the tiny bud to life, causing it to pucker and stiffen painfully, if Cordelia's groan of remorse was any criteria by which to judge.

"You have beautiful breasts." He admired the lovely orbs as he would a magnificent painting by an Old Master, his tone filled with reverent awe.

"F-Fuck m-me!" Cordelia found she was not above pleading at this point in time.

"Yes." He nodded absently. "I could do that." It was a given at this stage, true. "But, I don't think…I shall."

The woman cried out her dismay and objections. "I..h-hate you! " she whined piteously.

"Do you?" his free hand slid effortlessly..down, over her Mound of Venus, his fingers gently working their way into the hot, slick crevices of her vulva lips.

Cordelia's body stiffened with pleasure, her cheeks flushing prettily. She did not once think of denying him access to the inner most private part of her body.

"OHhhhhhhh…!" she gasped her awe, spreading her legs slightly for the unwarranted invasion, her entire system geared to..the man's efforts on her behalf. "S-Shitttt!"

Finch reached a bit farther, his middle finger playing teasingly about first, her nub of pleasure then..hovering enticingly at the opening of her vaginal area, putting just enough pressure to make Cordelia even more wet than she already was.

"Let us test that..hypotheses." he insisted, easing his finger..upward, entering the lava of her canal, smiling slightly for the heartfelt growl of approval and sharp gasp of delight for his unorthodox methods.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John Reese was a man possessed. His fine veneer of civilized behavior which at the best of times, was often questionable, was now.. completely absent from his psyche.

There was a primitive, primal scream inside his head, dictating his actions.

"Spread!" he snapped his need, his palm physically forcing his command, shoving on the inside of Davidivitch's thigh to allow him more space.

The woman grunted softly, but complied more than willingly. "Easy, big guy.." she panted her own involvement with the proceedings. "Give a little 'head's up'..you have me in a very cooperative mood but.."

"My fucking 'head' is 'up'.." Reese could see as much, his long, thick apparatus held in capable hands, primed and ready for action. "Now..let me in!"

Taylor grinned, propping herself more securely on her elbows, reaffirming her grip on the counter. "I love when you sweet talk me." She raised herself, her knees catching the edge of one of the ugly cushioned stools near by, giving the man more freedom in his choices. "Open for business, Lover."

Reese placed his cock directly against the taunt, slippery opening he had been eyeing now for some few seconds, his blood up, his pulse throbbing angrily in his temples for the visual had aroused him fully and he was hurting now, in the most painful way a man could hurt, wanting relief.

He shoved his organ upward, careful to ease into the moment, not ram against the grain, but he growled happily, feeling the pink lips surround him whole, swallow him, inch by glorious inch as he..moved upward into the volcanic depths.

"Ohhh, shit, baby!" he whispered his agony, his tone coarse, edgy. "God, that feels..so…" he couldn't find a word that described the emotions correctly, just closing his eyes and..savoring.

Davidivitch felt his heaviness fill her to capacity and beyond, the bitter sweet ache of urgency coloring her usually composed responses. "Deeper!" she commanded, her own voice a weak shade of it's former vitality. "M-More!"

"I don't want to hur.." there was nothing inside him that wanted to hurt her..nothing, but he too was experiencing..

"MORE!" Davy wasn't concerned about her status as a 'lady' at this moment in time.

Reese shoved hard into the creamy depths awaiting his exploration, grunting savagely for the delicious waves of pure physical pleasure which filled his mind and body. He thrust repeatedly, holding her hips in place, bringing her back to his sphere of influence each time with a resounding thud of flesh against flesh.

Davidivitch squirmed about, attempting to better feel the scratchy coarseness of his pubic hair that rubbed her sensitive vaginal area with delicious stings of damp slaps.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harold gently eased the woman forward, totally enraptured by the sight which now greeted his incredulous eyes. He had eased the blue lace down, over the beautiful firm cheeks, the fabric resting just beneath the indentation of Cordelia's legs.

The long strands of blonde hair reached the small of her back. Finch moved them lovingly aside, leaning to place his lips to the smooth flesh. Small goose flesh appeared beneath his efforts but he mistook the 'sigh', covering her nakedness with his own flesh, curving his body to Cordelia's smaller one, his arms surrounding her tiny waist protectively.

"Are you cold?" he asked solicitously, his mouth close to her shell like ear, his voice a mere whisper of husky..involvement.

She shook her head, too moved to speak coherently, her body on fire..aching deliciously for what only this man could give.

"I want inside you, Cordelia." He could wait no longer, admitting defeat, his tone dejected but..determined. "I want that ..so badly." He moved the lace..further down her legs.

He swallowed his own emotion, closing his eyes to the reality of his lost control.

"P-Please!" her voice broke with emotion. "If you..d-don't, I swear.." she felt her threat. "I will kill m-myself!"

He smiled gently. "Well..we certainly do not want that." Harold glanced down, his palm ever so gently pushing on the inside of the velvet thigh which quickly melted away any resistance, the heated surface opening more than willingly.

He could smell her arousal which only inflamed his all the more. He stifled a grunt of acquiescence, quickly pushing aside his expensive slacks, extracting his engorged penis with stressed difficulty for it was in a painful state indeed.

But, it soon was free so the man positioned it where he needed it to be, his hands shaking slightly as he took matters into hand, so to speak. "Are you a virgin, Delia?" he had to know the truth.

"I shall be..until my dying day if you don't…DO IT!" she cried out her rather strong belief. "GOD!... I'm DYING here!"

"Yes but.." he had cursed a silent vulgarity, for it meant..more patience on his part and that commodity was rapidly becoming scarce. "I don't want to hurt you. More than I shall."

Finch sighed heavily, placing his penis at the tiny little opening. He glanced at the difference in sizes, shaking his head regretfully. "..Do not..move."

He eased upward ever so gently, feeling the tight flesh..give and open.

Cordelia's hands snaked into the covers, clutching the sheets for dear life, her body stiffening involuntarily against the alien invasion.

"Relax." Harold's soothing tones served it's purpose and she found herself wanting to obey, her body crying out for something she wanted desperately, her mind knowing instinctively how to achieve her goals. "I am in control..."

So…she did and at first, it hurt..and the girl gasped her shock, crying out softly, her fingers tightening even more so on the sheet, but soon..it only stung and the heavy weight inside her begin to grow and fill her with..an agonizing flame of red-hot..need.

And then..Harold Finch began to..move.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hurry, baby.." Reese panted heavily, moving his body expertly, a fine sheen of perspiration shimmering his muscles and the taunt abdomen with it's dark mat of soft down which tapered into the band of his hastily removed underwear. The black silk lay discarded, rumpled into a heap on the floor over by the sink, his jeans, thrown carelessly aside, in the floor on the other side of the bar. "G-God..come ON!"

Beads of sweat covered his forehead, but he didn't care..his muscles twitched from holding Davidivitch's weight, but..he didn't care.

His body was screaming for fulfillment, his dick full and heavy with his fluid, built up in his balls, tight and puckered, ready for implosion.

He enjoyed fucking. But he particularly enjoyed it with this woman, who was not shy about stating her preferences or demanding her rights. Who obviously enjoyed the pastime just as much, if not more..than he did.

But now, he just wanted to finish. The build up had been phenomenal and electric but .. "Baby.." the stress was apparent in Reese's voice, and he lay his head on Davidivitch's sweaty little back, grimacing his agony. "Do it to me."

His silky tone washed over the woman like silk and she suddenly wanted to do anything in the entire Universe he asked, her body responding even when she had told it..maybe a few more seconds of this ethereal bliss..

Reese felt the slight stiffening which signified..all systems were a 'go'.

He straightened his body, his head falling back, and he..pumped hard, thrusting jerkily upward several meaningful strokes..which released the tension in his body, his fluid shooting forth like a rocket blast out of a hand held grenade launcher.

John strangled out his joy, grunting savagely as he rode the amazing tide of rising flames to the very top of it's crescendo.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cordelia's body shook tremulously, the crystal wave of ecstasy washing over her like a tidal wave of molten lava. The intensity robbed her of any sane thought or action. She sharp, intake of breath alerting her partner to

Harold Finch felt the coiled intensity of his climax flush from his straining, over worked equipment, grunting his appreciation. It took several seconds for the wondrous emotions to travel through his mind and even longer for his body to stop twitching from the marvelous sensations he had experienced.

Finch had forgotten how uplifting such an extraordinary interfacing could be.

Cordelia moaned gently, soft blonde tendrils framing her face, her hair mussed and gorgeous. Harold planted a grateful kiss on her full mouth, having turned her face toward his but soon enough, he let the woman fall back into the stupor their love making had induced.

He gently extracted himself from the heated little cavern, his body rebelling against such an unwise decision. Finch stifled a groan of denial, his hand easing the pain of his action. He could feel Cordelia's wetness, savoring the sensation, massaging his instrument absently.

Cordelia snuggled back against his actions, and Harold discretely moved ever so slightly that she not feel his condition, which was still swollen and thick. It would take some time to work such a delicious tingle out of his system.

He was only too glad to hold her in his arms. She seemed drowsy and compliant to anything he thought to do. He was loathe to realize, he too..felt the soothing effects washing over his system.

He closed his eyes, snuggling into her nape, his breathing even and steady after only a few minutes, her warm infusing his frame. He curved his body to Cordelia's smaller one, pulling her back against him. He tugged the corner of the sheets about them, falling into a deep, restful slumber


	17. Old Wounds Heal Slowly…

Cordelia Fellows drifted in a most pleasurable place. Between waking and dreaming, she felt warm flesh against her body and a slight pressure along the spine of her back, a heavy weight across her naked thigh.

She lay on her side, her left hand resting on her stomach, her right scrunched up under her chin. Her long hair was in her face, strands obscuring her vision. She had tried to open her eyes but was just too restful to try very hard.

The green orbs closed sleepily and she sighed gently, snuggling to the solid presence beside her, squirming slightly closer to the delicious heat provided.

She could smell his scent. An expensive cologne drifted up between her body and..his. A clean, masculine soapy aroma mixed with the after effects of their love-making but even that was titillating and..strange. But oh, so..nice.

Memories flooded her placid brain which brought a soft smile to her flushed face.

She could hear Harold Finch's steady, rhythmic breathing, feel the slight weight of his chin on the top of her head.

She had never felt so ..protected and safe.

Not in her entire life.

A part of her wanted to somehow awaken the man. To see if she could convince him to..do what he had done before. She had written many times about..such occurrences between a man and a woman but in all her imaginings, there was nothing to compare with the reality of such a moment.

But she was so comfortable and so..warm and safe and..sated. Her eyes closed and she listened to the continual husky breathing behind her, lulled into a light sleep herself after only a minute or two.

But then..Cordelia's mind began to function clearly. Flashes of lucidity streaked into her subconscious 'Id'. Visions of places..people..events. Some as crystal clear as if she were walking through the scenes set up by her psyche.

A man..older, with unmanageable gray hair, a wide grin and troubled, deep set eyes that touched her heart. Trees covered by snow, park benches frozen over with icy remnants of a cold night's Winter storm.

Sunny days spent under semi-blue skys, laughter from rowdy children..the sound of water sprinklers splashing on concrete asphalt.

Cordelia..sprung up, gasping for breath and..desperate to awaken.

She was suddenly aware of someone beside her, her head jerking over, her gaze trying to adjust to the darkened room.

Slowly, her senses returned and she..recognized her surroundings. She stared transfixed to the man sleeping so peacefully beside her.

She..eased from his embrace, careful not to disturb him, lifting his arm slowly..cautiously, sliding over just enough to extract herself from the bed.

Harold Finch slept.

Cordelia studied the man. He seemed so much younger than he did when those eyes were trained on a person, studying them right back, like an insect under a microscope.

His upper body was naked but she could see, although his slacks were still unfastened, slightly opened from..their former activities. He had put his instrument away, it lay dormant and hidden inside the visible silk of his underwear.

He really did have a very nice physique, surprisingly so. Those impeccable suits hid a multitude of muscled arms and tapered hips..flat, firm stomach, covered by a smattering of light colored hair which covered his chest area, beginning just at his throat, spreading outward and downward..disappearing with more dark feathering firmness into the band of his under shorts.

Momentarily, Cordelia wondered..what his entire body would look like. She blushed slightly, turning her eyes away guiltily.

She found his shirt, for she was chilled suddenly. The woman's mind was full. So many thoughts..so many..revelations.

She walked slightly to the window seat, unaware of any predetermined destination, sitting. She stared outside the darkened night, not really seeing what was there. Other visions took priority.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

John Reese was not complaining about his lot in life these days. He stood, leaning back against the tiled wall of a steaming shower, his eyes closed, his body..tense and coiled.

The hot spray pelted his skin and it felt good but..not half as good as what was taking place just below his belt line, not that he was wearing a belt at this exact moment. For the record, he wasn't wearing anything at all.

His hand filtered into the tangled mess of Taylor Davidivitch's wet hair, as he guided her, his deep, guttural grunts and moans..encouraging the activity she now performed for him.

Reese opened his eyes, glancing downward, his finger lovingly tracing the full, sensual lips which serviced him, even now. "Like that, baby." His tone was self- indulgent, low..tense. "..yeah..." He moaned piteously, his head falling back to it's former position against the wall. "G-God..that feels.." a primitive grunt escaped the man's throat. "I like that!" Reese proclaimed commandingly.

Davidivitch liked it too, her tongue flicking playfully back and forth over the slit of Reese's penis, suckling the thickness of his glans leisurely. She enjoyed the raspy catch in his throat when she found a particularly sensitive spot to tease.

Her long nails raked the underside of his scrotum gently, her fingers kneading softly, exploring his weaknesses.

She took him deep into her mouth, her tongue coarse against the tender flesh of his organ, causing Reese to thicken and lengthen even more so for her efforts.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harold Finch stirred, slightly cold and stiff. He kinked his back, his muscles groaning from over-use. He grimaced, sitting up, surveying his surroundings with bleary eyes.

He wondered how long he had slept. His first thought.. John. He should be..at his post helping..John.

The man looked around haplessly, suddenly aware of another's presence in the room.

Cordelia sat, in her customary position, in the window seat across the way, silently staring out the large double window panes.

"…I know where I saw you first." Her voice filtered softly across the area. "..I remember."

Finch rubbed his eyes, running his hand around his nape before swinging his legs off the side of the small bed. "What?" he tried to shake the cobwebs from his head.

"At the park." Cordelia turned her head to seek him out. She could make out his feet, on the carpet for the moonlight had moved farther into the room at this late hour, almost touching the bed with it's silvery rays. Finch's face was hidden in shadow, however. "You used to watch the house..the one where the lady with the red hair lived."

Finch..stiffened slightly, the hairs on the back of his head standing up a bit.

"Sometimes, you played chess with one of those men who go there but mostly.." The soft tone continued. "You just..sat there and..watched her."

Harold remained silent..sorting..filing..arranging data and facts.

"She's very lovely." Cordelia's voice was profoundly moving to the man for some odd reason. "Is she ..your 'Grace'?"

Finch allowed her to talk, unsure if he even needed to respond as yet but then, she fell silent. He was revising his tactics after a long moment for the silence was becoming rather brittle.

He watched her profile, wondering at the thoughts behind her carefully presented façade.

She appeared so small, sitting there like that..so childlike somehow. He knew instinctively, that the wall she had erected for protection was solidly in place yet again.

Only this time..it probably was stronger, higher..perhaps impregnable.

"Millie said it was a dangerous subject to bandy about but..he thinks red jelly beans are chocked full of mind-altering drugs." Cordelia had gone back to her musings. "He was right about the system.." she turned her head and her small face was framed by an ethereal light as the moon beams danced off the fluff of blonde hair abounding about her lithe body. "wasn't he."

She hugged her knees tightly, her body almost pulled into a fetal position. She was staring at him, Finch knew even though her face was obscured in shadow.

"..This.. 'person' of whom you speak." Harold moved warily. "This..'Millie'." he glanced longingly to his computer station in the other room. God, how he wished he could reach the controls.. "..Do I know him? Have you..mentioned him before?"

"I pulled him up on the Net." Cordelia said. "Everyone thinks he's crazy but..he's not." She seemed pretty damned certain of her facts. "He said..he knew you. He recognized you. That you were..the head man."

Finch sat quietly, analyzing all said before taking any sort of definitive action.

"I didn't put any store in it, of course." Cordelia shrugged the slender shoulders. "I didn't pay any attention to that part. I thought you were part of his delusional state. It comes and goes."

A full moon shone through the stark limbs of the trees behind the woman's silhouette, lighting the darkened corners of the East wall and the night sky. Small wisps of clouds streaked by at a higher altitude, the Northern wind blowing the stars around outside the suddenly claustrophobic dwelling.

"Are you, Mr. Finch?" she asked shakily. "the 'head' man?"

Finch remained silent, searching his memory for any person that might conceivably be the one to which she now referred, coming up..empty.

"I thought it was just a good storyline." Cordelia laughed hollowly. "Davy said..it was '1984' revisited. But..it's why people are trying to ..hurt us, isn't it. It's real. It..exists. It's George Orwell's worst nightmare but..it's here, right now. Millie wasn't making any of it up."

She shook her head sadly.

"Because I dared to 'think'.." she hit her temple with her fingers. "to..'imagine' a..possibility. Someone wants me dead for that concept?"

Finch lowered his eyes, his conscience bothering him tremendously.

Cordelia's heart hurt and her mind was fried..too many realities with which to deal. The foremost being? She had truly liked this man. Perhaps she had even loved him. Fool that she was.

"Are you..part of the whole, Mr. Finch?" that was the only logical conclusion, after all. It had come to her about an hour past. Her world was turned upside down, yet again..it was tumbling out of control. "If you're the 'Head Guy'..then everything that has gone down must be..by your decree, yes?"

She hoped he could not see her body tremble, her heart beat against her chest hard and her blood rushed through her veins at break neck speed.

"You and Mr. Reese.." she found the concept ludicrous. "you're not protecting us. Me and Davy. You're..keeping us around so that..what?" that part was unclear.

"To see what we really know? To make sure we aren't..a liability to your.." how did one refer to what was coming down? " 'World Utopia?'" she scoffed at such a stupid term. "How DO you, exactly, refer to..what it is you've created?"

She had thought back over each and every conversation she and Millie had this past year and a half. Painstakingly dissecting, examining theories..deciphering motives.

"None if this makes any sense to me but.." she accepted her faults. "I'm not smart enough to figure any of it out. But, if your Mr. Reese has hurt Taylor. I swear before God..somehow. ..I will.."

"Stop being ridiculous!" Finch arose swiftly, his anger justified in his world. "Mr. Reese has risked his life for you and Ms. Davidivitch several times over. He has even arranged an..understanding with those that would harm you both. And this is the thanks he receives?"

"Then why haven't you let me speak to Davy?" Was her friend really alright? She hadn't heard from Davy in, what seemed like days.

"I told you." Harold was fast losing patience. "Cell transmissions can be traced."

Cordelia had heard it all before. She no longer trusted..anyone.

Her eyes were empty..cold, returning Finch's heated stare.

"Get packed." He made his decision. "We are going back to the city."

He turned, exiting the room, his limp more pronounced, his body rigid with pent up fury. He stopped abruptly at the door facing, his back still to the outside corridor, however. "..It was not a lie." He lifted his head, staring morosely forward. "Not ever. Especially.." he motioned curtly behind him, to the vicinity of the bed they had shared. "What happened between us. At least..not on my part."

He continued on but was pulled up yet again by her outburst.

"I saw your face." Cordelia had. "You love her. You will always love her. What does that make me, in which case..Mr. Finch?"

The man considered the accusation, turning back slowly. He still could not make out her lovely face and she sat where she had..in the window seat.

"..Perhaps..in the beginning it was something..less." he would not lie now, either. "But somewhere along the line, Cordelia..something changed." He seemed as surprised by the fact as she probably was.

"Everything.." the girl had to totally agree. "has..changed."

Finch went to his room, dressing quickly, feeling the mistrust and tension between them permeate the entire house. It would be impossible to rationalize his reasons for his Creation to an idealistic young woman like Cordelia who had not seen the things he had seen in the world.

Finch sat at his computer desk, his fingers working the keyboard rapidly. He read the incoming data, trying hard to concentrate..focus on the existing problem.

He had a starting point. 'Millie'..in Union Park.' He started at the police data base. The Homeless. Vagrancy arrests. Three possibilities came up: Mildred Laughlin, 38..white female, arrested for intoxication and public nudity..

Abigail Millar..62. black female. Drug possession and paraphernalia.

And lastly, Edward Miller, 67..white male, Loitering.

Finch typed rapidly, pulling up hundreds of 'Edward Millers'. But only six were of any real interest. The fourth one down on the list sparked something inside Finch's brain and he pursued his instincts.

He read the screens, scowling darkly.

'Edward Miller: Electrical Engineer, AS-204 Mission, Apollo/Saturn Space Vehicle 1964-1967.

Finch read on.

'Edward Miller, top electrical engineer with Nasa's Gemini Program in the early 60's. The man literally was present from the ground up in constructing and maintaining the equipment, systems and design used during that time period.

The tragic fire in which three original astronauts, Lt. Col Virgil I. Grissom, Lt. Col Edward H. White and Lt. Commander, Roger B. Chaffee lost their lives, Jan 27, 1967..was under the total supervision of..Edward L. Miller.

Who literally fell off the grid after the accident, leaving no digital finger print what-so-ever. There were two rather substantial accounts still active under his name in the First Cape Canaveral Bank. The funds had not been touched in decades.

This guy had resurfaced forty years later as one of the faceless thousands who frequented the unsympathetic streets of New York City, ..or, Finch hoped as much, at any rate.

Nasa was recruiting the best and brightest for the American Space Program in the 60's. Miller certainly qualified for that class of young, eager, patriotic men of that era.

A graduate of Finch's own M.I.T., the top of his class, Miller was destined for great things in life.

Finch wondered at the events which altered such a promising future.

'There', he thought.'.but for the Grace of God, go I.'

Cordelia had been quiet for the past hour or so. He understood her change of attitude, mentally. Physically, he resented the hell out of the fact, she could believe him capable of such unconscionable acts.

He was capable, the Machine proved as much but his anger stemmed from the fact..he had let her in, to an extent, into his life and it hurt to realize..he could somehow be aligned with the type of people he and John were fighting so hard to neutralize.

He consoled himself in that, any male would have reacted to the stimuli presented in the same fashion as he had. He was one of the Specie, after all..subject to the same frailties and weaknesses.

Tonight had proven as much.

He shook that line of thinking. It was unproductive. John Reese would need all the data Finch could supply in an hour or so.

The sun was just beginning to peek over the low lying hills of this rolling mountainous terrain.

Soon, it would be time to go. He wanted everything set and ready when the time came.

Previous


	18. (Luke..I Am Your Faaaaather…

Cordelia had finished a quick shower and now was packing her meager belongings into two K-Mart bags, her mind having shut down an hour ago. She tried to sort her plans for the day, but her heart just wasn't in it.

She could have run away from the man she heard clicking away at his keyboard in the other room. She could have probably done so in the early morning hours but she did not know the countryside. She did know it was a goodly stretch into town and that the nearest home was miles away. Not to mention, it was near freezing last night.

The road here was not heavily traveled. She had seen no cars what-so-ever in all the time they had been at the cabin.

Her thoughts were with Edward Miller although, she never thought of the rotund little man by that name, but rather his moniker.. 'Millie'.

Of course, her priority must be his safety. She must not be impetuous however. She must choose her time. She must wait for the right moment.

There was a definite strain between Mr. Finch and herself but it was a natural one he accepted, she thought. She had calmed herself, knowing to survive, she would have to outwit her captors.

How was that even possible. Cordelia sat heavily on the window seat, her hopes dashed. Mr. Finch was so very much more intelligent than she.

She could not allow herself to think in such terms. This entire situation was her fault. She must, at least, try to put it to rights.

But how?

Mr. Finch had said they would go to the city soon. Some possibility must surely present itself for escape once she was on more familiar ground.

Cordelia forced herself to react normally. She even asked Mr. Finch if he wanted her to make him some eggs and toast but he refused the offer, going to take his own shower.

The woman nibbled on her beloved white powered donut, each tiny morsel sticking in her throat. She thought the meager meal might actually come back up at one point, but..it didn't.

She listened to the sound of the shower upstairs, listlessly arising, clearing the two cups and saucers, for Mr. Finch had sipped on his sencha green tea..washing them mechanically, drying them, putting them neatly away, waiting for Mr. Finch to finish up whatever it was delaying their departure.

Cordelia felt sick at heart. First and foremost because she truly believed she had put a dear, precious man at risk. Edward Miller was one of the lost souls on Earth but also, one of the good, decent, caring people still remaining.

She refused to think about the other reason she felt so miserable.

In the past year and a half she knew 'Millie,' she had become greatly attached to the odd little man. She constantly sought to better his position in life, for she had a little money set aside, enough to rent him a little flat, perhaps..she would have made certain he had food and medicine but the man steadfastly refused any and all offers of aid.

Cordelia had to settle for constantly bringing him food, blankets, clothing..not new, for those only made him a target for others like him who were unscrupulous about stealing the 'good' stuff.

She had learned the lesson the hard way when Millie had ended up in the Emergency Room last winter after she had bought him a new coat. The man had been mugged, his coat stolen, his assailant hurling him to the curb where he had hit his head..hard.

But, Cordelia could not sleep, knowing he was cold..or eat, if she thought him hungry. So, the cycle was a never ending one. She didn't mind, really. As long as the man was content.

Her own Father had been less than hoped for. But Millie was sweet and gentle and kind. He was also very old and frail. But, there had been moments when she caught glimpses of what he once was, his mind would snap into place..and she was introduced to Edward Miller, the genuine article.

A big-hearted, gregarious man with a wonderfully dry sense of humor and infectious laugh. An idealist who saw the world in a better light then it deserved, Cordelia was certain. A quick- witted, highly opinionated man who could discuss any and all subjects intelligently.

Those flashes were few and far between granted, in Millie's delusional, self-imposed world but they were well worth the wait.

Cordelia had seen Millie several times, around the Park area, long before she actually met him face to face. Of course, each 'street person' had a tale attached to their, often sad, sometimes, tragic stories.

Willie was known to be one of the few people noticed and begrudgingly accepted by the 'cold-hearted' people of New York City.

He never caused trouble, kept a low-profile and never, ever..pan-handled. Maybe because he didn't make any passersby's feel the ever-present 'guilt' for their lot in life, which was decidedly better, of course..he was often singled out for daily 'contributions'.

Millie often brought in twenty or thirty bucks a day. Which he invariably shared with his own kind.

And at night, he would blend back into the city, going underground to places of safe harbor. There was a whole sub-culture below the streets, it was said.

A dark world frequented by the less fortunate. Even thieves and muggers refused to go there, firstly, because the pickings were slim but mostly because they fancied themselves above such an environment and did not wish to be associated with the pitiable creatures forced to live within the damp, dank tunnels.

Cordelia's thoughts were with these people as Finch weaved his shiny new auto along the extension bridges and roads that would eventually take them back to a destination the woman was not yet privileged to know.

They had traveled in relative silence for a goodly stretch. Cordelia welcomed the reprieve of having to keep up the pretense of normalcy but Finch was troubled deeply by the chasm now between them.

"..Communication is the key to bridging any misunderstanding, Cordelia." He reminded, loathe to have to do so, his pride pricked by having to be the one to speak first. "I cannot fix the problem unless it is brought to my attention."

Cordelia's eyes teared up. "It cannot..be fixed, Mr. Finch." She sought his countenance. "Can it?"

"So.." his anger surfaced, his hands tightening on the wheel. He stared straight ahead. "last night meant.. 'what' to you?" he found his male ego did not like to think he had been used. "Is it something you 'do' with any and all men?"

Cordelia's heart constricted and she gasped softly for it hurt..him thinking her..

Harold closed his eyes for a brief second, shaking his head curtly. "..Forgive me." He asked, hating himself for such pettiness. "..I did not mean..that." No..he most certainly had not. "I know it is untrue and it was a terrible accusation and I am truly..sorry." He was, glancing at the woman's stricken face. "Truly."

Cordelia grasped at the peace offering like a dying victim on sinking vessel. "It meant..everything, Mr. Finch!" she blurted, choking on her own emotion. "More than you c-can ever know!"

"Then..what?" Harold demanded her put an end to this hideous situation. "I am trying to make amends for my part in this debacle. I am trying to put matters right. What more can I do?"

"I.." She wish she had answers..for both of them, but..then there was Millie.

"I know your trust no longer lies with me but your friend is in serious danger and frankly.." he explained snippily. "Your options are severely limited. Mr. Reese and I are all you have remaining."

No..Cordelia thought to herself. 'No'..if she could get to Edward Miller, to warn him..then perhaps the man himself would know what to do. He had eluded these types of people before.

Another thought occurred to the woman. What about..her? What about..Davy?

"…I want to speak to Taylor!" she demanded shakily. "I want that..right now! This exact moment!"

Finch, although he disliked her 'tone'..reached into his grey tweed vest inner pocket, handing over his cell. He could use the auto's in-house system but he thought, Cordelia might prefer privacy.

She was keeping a lot of secrets from him. He didn't want to 'intrude', after all. He cast her a 'pissy' look, returning to his driving.

Cordelia weathered his foul mood, deeply troubled by it, all the same.

"Push 'two'." Finch advised tartly.

She followed the instructions listening cautiously, almost gasping when the deep, silky voice drawled a lazy.. "What'd ya want, Finch…I'm..occupied."

"..I want to speak to Taylor!" Cordelia stammered nervously.

Reese lifted curious brows. "Well.." his soft whisper sent shivers down her arms. "And a good-morning to you, too, Ms. Fellows." He chastised in his own way.

"..I..I w-want to talk to her! I want that…" she swallowed hard because this man scared her witless, truth told. "R-Right now!" she tried to use her best no-nonsense tone but it came out rather weak and ineffectual.

Reese grinned, handing over the cell.

Davidivitch tucked the towel more securely about her breasts, her brow subtlety furrowed with concern as she took the phone, placing it to her ear. "What is it, baby girl? Are you ok?"

Cordelia was..incredulous. "..You're..alright?" she could not believe it. "Truly?"

Taylor glanced at a totally nude John Reese, admiring the view. "Oh, honey. I have never been more 'alrighter'. What's up?" she ran a gentle finger down one of Reese's many scars on his back, having first kissed the tip it with her lips. Her eyes met the man's which had cut to her face indulgently. "You ok? You sound..I don't know." Davidivitch's scowl increased. "Freaked."

"No..no, I'm not..that." the green eyes kept darting to Finch's profile. "I'm..fine. I..thought.."

"She THOUGHT…" Finch raised his voice, snapping his opinion. "John had murdered you in your sleep, Ms. Davidivitch."

His tone was rather ironic..no, more sarcastic, really.

Taylor smiled seductively over at.. 'John the Murderer.' "Well, actually, we haven't gotten around to that 'sleeping' part yet. John? Do you plan on murdering me any time soon?"

Cordelia felt like sinking into the well upholstered seat! How absurd her former line of thinking had been..apparently.

"I have other plans for.." Reese halted his actions of examining his five o'clock shadow in the steamed up mirror, his hand stopped mid 'rub' of his jawline, eyeing her casually, his gaze flicking the knot of the towel with undue interest. "You into the 'rough' stuff, Davidivitch?"

Was that hope she read in those dreamy eyes. "We'll talk." She pursed her lips sensually, sending him a 'kiss'. "What's going on with you, kid? Something is not 'right' in 'Cordelia Land'. I sense it."

The younger woman felt like crying, but she held it together. "Millie is..in danger."

Taylor sobered. "Your guy? In the park?"

Cordelia nodded, tearing up, rapidly telling the sordid tale, her speech patterns rambling. Of course, she left out her suspicions about the man sitting next to her and the one she thought might be murdering her friend. "And..it's MY fault! If I hadn't wanted to write this stupid..STUPID story, no one would even look twice at Millie! He told me, Davy, he told me..people were after him. I didn't listen!"

"He's a fruit basket honey, no one listens to him."

"I have to do something. I have to..warn him, at least!" Cordelia was at her wit's end. "They may have already..gotten to h-him!" a sob caught in her throat.

"Who?" Davidivitch wanted to know. "Who are these people you keep referring to? No one knows about him anyway..right? But me and you."

John Reese didn't seem to be listening to the conversation, shaving his handsome face, dipping the disposable razor in his basin, shaking it clean.

Cordelia had not known how to answer because..someone else knew. Now. Thanks to her big mouth and witless brain.

"Hey, listen." Davidivitch had an idea. "No problem, right? John and I will go get the little freak, bring him her.."

"NO!" Cordelia's voice was shrill. "NO, DAVY!"

Finch cut her a disparaging glance, shaking his head wryly.

"I m-mean.." the young woman caught her slip, flushing terribly. "that won't be necessary." She frantically looked for an avenue of escape but the traffic was moving at a fast clip, flowing smoothly this, of all days.

She cast a hasty glimpse at the other occupant of the car, her nerves stretched to breaking.

"Something is up with you, girl." Davidivitch's tone hardened. "Now you spill!" she settled in, ready to wait it out, her arms crossed across her ample bosom, her hip resting on the sink edge. She leaned, tabbing a bit of shaving cream from John's ear. "I am not getting off this phone until you.."

"No." Cordelia asked more than told. "I just wanted to connect with you." That much was true. "Ohhh, Davy. This is the worst mess ever!" she ran her hand through the mass of blonde hair. "What are we going to do?"

"Exactly what John and your little geek friend tells us to do." Davidivitch knew her own plans, at least. "Stop worrying so much. It will all work out, you'll see."

Cordelia often admired her friend's ability to 'let the dice roll' and see where life took her but in this instance, the young writer did not believe Taylor had thought the problem through. "Alright .." She gave it up. "As long as you're ok, then."

"Why wouldn't I be alright?" Taylor watched John pull his boxers up the muscled, hairy legs, sulking prettily that he would soon be dressed and civilized once again.

Reese grinned his amusement, picking up on the reason for her sullen mood.

"I have a big, strong, handsome man looking out for me." She chuckled at Reese's comical 'muscle' pose, as he flexed his well honed bicep for her consideration. "even if he is a dork."

John managed to look 'hurt' at the snide remark, resuming his wardrobe change, with but one chastising look in the woman's way.

"I'm fine, sweetheart, but what about you?" Taylor still hadn't gotten any concrete evidence that Cordelia was functioning properly.

"I'll feel better when we find Millie."

"Good luck with that." Davy sighed. "The little spider monkey could be anywhere. What can I do?" was the more prevalent question.

"Mr. Finch wants the cell.." The girl looked at the outstretched hand. "Be safe..I'm fine. Really."

Cordelia handed the cell over obediently.

"..John?" Finch was suddenly glad he had foregone his impulse to use the car's audio system with the next words out of Davidivitch's mouth.

"What have you done to my BFF, you little weasel? Did you 'bop' her?"

Reese hastily grabbed the cell from the woman's hand, sending her a 'behave' glare. "I'm here Finch." He soothed some ruffled feathers. "What do you need?"

"Ms. Davidivitch is most..direct." Harold had lifted a discerning brow at the heated accusation. "We must locate and extract a homeless gentleman by the name of Edward Miller..'Millie' is his street name. I know you have contacts that can assist, yes?"

"What's he got to do with.."

"I'll explain all in due time. Ms. Fellows and I will begin our search at the Union Park pavilion. If you would try the train station? I know many of the less fortunate reside there after dark. They may still be around. I'm sending a photo but it is terribly out dated."

John checked his phone. "Well, he's going to look different." The photo would be of little assistance. The guy grinning back at him was wearing an suit and tie, was clean shaven and except for the long, hippie style hair, was the picture of a normal male out of the Sixties.

"Ms. Fellows knows what he looks like now." Finch shifted a non-descript stare. "but I doubt she will be any real help in locating him."

"What's going on there?"

"She thinks we have gone over to the Dark Side." Finch returned his interest to the flow of traffic around the sleek automobile. "Keep me informed, Mr. Reese." Harold clicked off, returning his cell to his inner vest pocket.

John knew that tone. That was not a 'good' tone. Not at all. He wondered at the circumstances which had brought about a Harold Finch 'pissy' day.

He shrugged, letting it go. Finch would clue him in..or he wouldn't. His job was to find this Miller guy. He would do his job.


	19. Our Finest Hour?...

Cordelia was beyond shocked. How could he have known? She had been so very careful to conceal her true feelings. Hadn't she?

She stared at the enigma before her, the wide green eyes blinking their awe.

"..What am I to think?" she defended herself half-heartedly, feeling ridiculously guilty for some reason she could not even begin to phantom. "Millie knows you! He said you were in charge of the entire project, is that not true?"

"Why even bother to inquire." Finch 'inquired'. "Anything out of my mouth is a lie to you." He spared her a withering glance. "Whatever I say will be either misconstrued or dismissed as a falsehood."

"..No." Cordelia hated his disapproval..his anger stinging her like a whip's lash. "No, I..I don't want it to be..like that, Mr. Finch. I HATE..feeling like this!" it felt so good to tell the truth again. "I HATE it!"

Finch digested her sincerity but more so, her words.

For an awful minute, Cordelia thought the man would refuse another word, that he might simply ignore her for the rest of the trip.

Finch's tone was just this side of chilly when finally he spoke, however. "..I no longer have access to the files needed to verify your Mr. Miller's credentials." Finch didn't. No one did, except those now in charge of his creation. "I don't recognize the face personally but there were hundreds of people working on the project in any number of capacities in the beginning. Each section was.." he recalled the pecking order to mind. "Compartmentalized. None knew the purpose of the other."

Cordelia listened most attentively, holding her breath, afraid to interrupt for fear he would stop talking to her but full of thousands of questions already, about to burst forth. She literally placed her fingers over her mouth to prevent such an unwise move.

"I could have walked by the man a hundred times a day and not seen him. My work was all consuming back then." Harold was sad to say, his tone conveying his regret. "It is possible my employer sought him out. Mr. Miller was brilliant in his field of endeavor."

"Not half as brilliant as…" Cordelia blurted, drawing in a sharp breath, catching her lapse too late, realizing she had..interrupted. "I am so sorry, Mr. Finch." She gulped shakily. "Please..g-go on."

Finch had not even noted, his thought processes in gear, accelerating at break neck speed. "..9/11 was a wake-up call for our Government." Harold 'compartmentalized' his tale. "they needed a system to track terrorists operations. A more efficient one. Several top Scientists, Mathematicians, Theorists..all were attempting to produce the needed product." He shrugged. "My design ..worked and we completed it ahead of the others."

Cordelia was confused about the time line. "Eh..but..what about the other one." She wondered where it all fit together. Millie had told her some of what Mr. Finch had just relayed. And then she realized..she had done it yet again. She had..

Finch's head turned ever so slowly but he was forced to give his attention back to his driving. He noted an upcoming turn off just to the right, steering his powerful automobile over three lanes of traffic, cutting off several cars who let him know how they felt about the gesture with gestures of the driver's own.

He ignored them, having floored the Escalade, whipping down the off-ramp, swerving into a half empty parking lot of a local convenience store. He pulled to an abrupt halt, putting his vehicle in gear.

He gave over his full attention, turning to face the woman, his seat belt snapped off. "..What?"

"W-What?" Cordelia was trying to follow the rapid train of events, her head swirling about this way and that. She read the 7-Eleven sign. Gas prices were so high these days.

"You said.." Harold's voice was taunt..his eyes trained on her, focused and steady. " 'What about..the other one.' The other.. 'what', Cordelia?"

She stared at him. "..The other..system?" she offered rather timidly.

Harold..stiffened then straightened slowly, digesting the implication of her statement.

"You..m-must know. Millie said.." she drifted off, his expression alarming her even though, his features were quite..unreadable.

"Mr. Miller.." Harold asked quietly, the blue eyes trained suddenly on her. "Knows..where this..system is located?"

"He says..no one knows for certain now but..originally, it was developed by the Chinese, correct?"

Harold sat back, the wind taken from his sails. He took a moment to regroup. "..How does he know this?"

"He worked on it?" she asked hesitantly. She hoped that was the right answer. "Oh..but, just certain components of it though..like you said. He wasn't sure what his part in the entire thing was." She didn't know how that made it better but maybe it did. "..He didn't know he was working for..well, he was an independent contractor at the time..so to speak." She watched the man's face carefully. "I guess that was after he ..worked for you?"

All this information was in her notes, on her pad, next to her in the seat. She could have simply allowed him read them but he was speaking to her again and he didn't seem so awfully upset anymore.

She chanced a quick glance to the paper, scooting it further under her thigh.

"Why didn't I get a number?" Harold mused to himself, suddenly suspecting, although Ms. Davidivitch and Cordelia were in danger, it seemed to him that..Edward Miller must surely be the real target of this mission. But..there had been no advance warning for the man. None.

"What?" Cordelia had heard the oddly stated inquiry but she had not understood it. "

Finch shook his doldrums. "Cordelia..you must assist me in locating your friend. This could be very important. Not only to his safety."

She downed her head instantly, the situation brought vividly to mind, her hair falling, obscuring her face. The curly blonde strands swished softly as she shook her head. A long moment passed as Cordelia weighed her options. She lifted haunted eyes. "I..don't know what to do." She just didn't. "Tell me."

She knew he would answer the obvious but she wanted to hear the words from his own mouth.

"That is a decision only you can make."

Cordelia's heart soared. "Ohhhh, Mr. Finch!" she clasped her hands together, suddenly exuberant. "..Only a man with a good heart would..say that!" she suddenly knew the right thing to do.

"Or a very deviously conniving one." He halted her intended embrace, with a restrictive hand lifted, a barrier between them. "No." he too, shook his head, his manner more than stand-offish. "That time has passed between us, Cordelia."

He hated the stricken expression which followed but he was not the sort of man to use unfair tactics to obtain a goal. "..Mr. Reese and I will locate Mr. Miller but time is of the essence. Whatever your decision.." he informed her, knowing he had probably just lost her cooperation completely. "That part of our..relationship..is no more."

He refused to lie to her. He no longer felt the connection he once had.

The words were cold and hurtful. Cordelia was utterly crushed but then, what did she expect? She was devastated, her joy of seconds before a thing of the past.

She..sat back in her seat, trying to wrap her head around all that had transpired in such a short interval. "I..see." But she didn't 'see'..not at all. If she could put aside her own doubts and mistrust. For goodness sake..she thought her very life was in danger from this..man. Millie's life..Davy's.

If she could forgive and..

Harold waited patiently for the girl to work through her emotional turmoil.

She sat, her features carefully composed. She stared straight ahead, her body tense..he noted her hands, resting upon the seat between them, one, laying on her upper thigh.

He remembered the feel of her fingers, gently stroking his body..how they moved ever so gently through his hair, massaging his scalp, raising tiny trails of ecstasy down his arms..curling into the hair of his nape.

Finch closed his eyes briefly dispelling such disturbing images.

Cordelia suddenly felt like a trapped animal, the air in the car depressively suffocating.. stagnant. She pulled at the collar of her coat, gulping in air, her brow beaded with perspiration, her body damp with sweat.

She could not breathe!

Her entire body felt as if a thousand ants were crawling under her clothes. Her skin crawled.

What was happening to her?

She..could not..breathe!

She could not take in enough air.

Instinctively, she sought escape, her hands clawing at the door handle, then..unlatching the automatic lock, scrambling to exit the car into fresh air.

Her palm flattened against the cold glass of the window and she pushed open the heavy door, clamoring out, stumbling onto the pavement of the parking lot, practically tumbling out of the vehicle.

She drew in deep, lungful's of air, her body trembling, shaking uncontrollably.

But, still..the feelings did not subside.

Finch was out of the car, making his way around the back end, realizing a panic attack when he witnessed one. He used to have them, himself..in the time directly following the accident. He would awaken, drenched with sweat, feeling dislocated from his own mind and body. But, he had learned how to control the attacks after a short time.

He could assist.

Cordelia, on the other hand, had never experienced anything of the nature, unprepared, and frightened by her body's reaction..to what? She didn't know.

She did sense Finch's approach, her panic rising to new heights. She..bolted. The very last thing she wanted was comfort from a man who could no longer stand her touch.

She still felt the admonishment of his abrupt denial of before, when she had reached out to him, still heard his casually stated rejection..which reverberated in her befuddled brain even now: "that time has passed..that part of our relationship is..no more."

She dashed across the parking lot, running from the man's presence, her body's illogical reaction to the entire situation and her own demons.

"CORDELIA!" Finch halted his steps, having just reached the tail light of the Escalade, his hand on the outer corner of the car. She did not heed his command to stop, continuing on, disappearing around the end of the building in seconds.

He stood, helpless to overtake her, cursing his physical condition. He scrambled for his phone, his fingers fumbling inside his vest pocket but then, the phone was out and he had punched the needed connection.

He stared after the woman..or rather, where he had last seen her, waiting grimly for Reese to pick up. "..Mr. Reese, there is a problem." He heard the familiar response, dispensing with niceties. "Ms. Fellows has..flown the proverbial coup, I fear."

"What?" Reese's brow furrowed slightly. "What's going on, Finch?"

Finch explained in short, succinct sentences. "I'm afraid I've bungled it rather badly." He understated, feeling his inadequacies deeply. "I should have been more..articulate."

"It's ok, Finch." Reese's confident tone served to calm Harold's own anxiety. "I'll find her. When she calms down, she'll head for Miller. We can kill two birds with one stone."

He had dropped Davidivitch off at Carter's Precinct. "I have one stop I have to make then I'll meet you at Union Park. We'll start there and fan out the search. We have untapped resources."

"What are you going to do, John?" Harold was feeling most ineffectual at that exact moment.

"Take out a couple of insurance policies but I'll put a rush on the paperwork." Reese maneuvered his vehicle in and out of the rush hour traffic of a busy New York City day, headed upstate. "In the meantime, if we can't find her, they can't either." He shrugged mentally. "It's fine..really."

"I..handled it very clumsily, John." Harold was feeling guilty, his remorse genuine. "I could have waited to.."

"Harold." Reese disliked the man's present mood. "Shit happens. We'll put this back together. Just give me a little time to get to you, right?"

Finch nodded morosely. "I'll..head for the park."

"I won't be long." Reese had already completed one part of his mission. "Stop beating yourself up. Focus on the job."

Again, Finch nodded, headed back to the driver's seat. "Just find her. She's out there alone, without protection. And it's my fault.

Reese nodded but sighed impatiently. "It is not..your fault. She shouldn't have been so stupid, Harold."

"She isn't stupid." Finch snapped then regretted it. "..Most days." Reese grinned, clicking off his device. Then he actually chucked. Whatever had gone down with Finch and his new main squeeze, it hadn't soured the other man too horribly against Ms. Coredelia Fellows, which was rather amusing if one thought about it long enough. But, he had other things with which to occupy his thoughts. He put his foot to the accelerator, speeding to his destination.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cordelia sat, hunkered down in an alley way, behind a very large garbage receptacle. She had run until her side hurt but then, she had to stop for a while to catch her breath. The good news was that the terrible feeling she experienced in the car had lessened and she could once again, think relatively clearly.

Which is exactly what she had been doing for the past few minutes or so. The alley was deserted and she looked around trying to get her bearings. She could see, in the distance, the tall spirals of St. Patrick's Cathedral.

She was very far away from where she needed to be.

She had no money, no cab fare. What were her options?

She looked about her person. Her watch, she had dropped into that sweet Detective's washer. She glanced at the one piece of jewelry no one had noticed but..it was her Mother's ring. A simple gold band. The only thing she had left as a remembrance.

Cordelia wore it on her right hand, always had, after her mom's funeral.

She stared at it a very long time.

No. She simply would not part with that. She arose, knowing what she could part with though.

She made her way out unto the main street, walking to the end of the avenue, glancing up to the corner sign. Tall brick apartment buildings lined either side of the boulevard. Across the way was a small dress shop. To her right, a deli. The smells made her stomach roil.

She hurried down the sidewalk, looking for something in particular. This neighborhood was not the best in the world but neither was it especially dangerous. Still, she felt uneasy, hoping for a reprieve soon. If she could just get cab fare.

It seemed she had walked forever when..across the street in the middle of the block, the printing in the window alerted her, giving fresh hope. She pushed the pedestrian walk light several punches, waiting impatiently for the light to change.

She literally ran to the store front, entering the small establishment hurriedly. She stopped inside to get her bearings then.. "..How much will you give me for the coat?" she was shrugging out of the garment before she even got to the front of the desk.

A tall black man looked her up and down, a suspicious look on his face.

"I'm stranded. My car broke down and I forgot my purse at the apartment." She explained quickly. "I need cab fare but I'll be back to pick it up this afternoon. It's a very expensive coat."

She showed him the label.

"I don't know that store label." The thick Brooklyn accent was more than apparent, and the man threw up a dismissing hand. "I have enough damned coats, lady."

"Bus fare then..anything! I need to get down town!" Cordelia was frantic. "That is a very exclusive shop, up State! The coat cost a fortune..honest! I don't need much."

"No coats lady!" the man raised his voice, waving his hands in the Universal sign of 'no sale'.

-Cordelia looked forlornly to her fingers. She weighed the balance of her mom's ring or Millie's life. She pulled the ring off, offering it over. She lifted angry, defiant eyes. "You say one bad thing about this ring and I'll punch you right in the face."

The man didn't put much store in such a threat, obviously, but…he was interested in the merchandise. "14 carat." He inspected the inside carefully, reading the tiny print. "It's a small fit. What is this..size four, five? Not much call for that small a finger size."

"How much?" she snapped.

"..Fifty dollars."

Cordelia closed her eyes, knowing she was being rooked over. "WHATEVER..give me the fucking money!" she would be back tonight to get the ring. She waited impatiently while the paper work was done. She grabbed the money, exiting the store. Her eyes fell on the building across the way. A huge grey monstrosity that curved around the block.

The woman's vision swam. She felt as if she had betrayed her mother. But she knew, down deep, her mother would be the first to understand and approve of her decision.

Cordelia swallowed her misery. She went in search of a ride up town.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harold Finch watched the scene play out on his monitor. He sat in the park, on a bench, having run a facial recognition program in order to find Cordelia Fellows. It had taken him less than ten minutes, once he had found a comfortable spot.

He watched the woman hail a cab. He had seen her in the pawn shop.

He drew in a deep, cleansing breath, glancing around the pavilion. There were hundreds of people here today. Many homeless that kept out of the way of the 'normal' people, but they were present.

He wondered if any were the person he sought. After a while, he was loathe to admit, they all began to look the same. What a sad statement..not so much for the homeless people, but those who were not in their predicament.


	20. A Game Of Cat and Mouse..

"You were wrong, John..she isn't coming here at all." Finch watched the girl cross 8th Street, headed into the subway system entrance. He switched camera angles, punching in the Mass Transit Circuit Board on his computer. Cordelia Fellows was easily distinguished from the rest of the morning subway riders. Or at least, she seemed so to Harold who spotted the woman right away. "She is entering the subway stairs even as we speak."

"Which comes out at the Square, on 14th." Reese reminded. "Keep eyes on her, Harold. I'm only a few blocks away, I'll catch up."

Finch forced himself to relax, drawing in a deep breath. Cordelia slipped her MetroCard into the slot, entering the turnstile behind a burly construction worker. She had purchased it for four dollars and fifty cents. Which she thought was a reasonable price. She seldom road the subway, actually.

She made her way slowly with the other commuters, easing to the already crowded train location far down to her right. The platform was already full.

Finch glanced about his surroundings, his eyes absently falling on the mammoth sized kinetic wall sculpture across the street. The 'Metronome' was an impressive structure, encompassing an entire section of building space down at the far end of Union Square Park.

Steam spouted out of the center of the digital clock eliciting several 'ohhhs' from the tourist gathered in the Square.

Harold had other things on his mind. Cordelia was walking along the platform but her interest was clearly elsewhere. She made her way through the milling crowds, easing over to the side of the thoroughfare. She leaned against the grey metal door posted 'Exit..Maintenance Only'.

"I think she is about to go 'off-grid'." Harold could read body language well. No cameras would be installed beyond the door, he knew. "Your location, John?"

"She's probably going underground..which is ok." Reese hurried through the throng of people on the upper sidewalks. "She knows how to find Miller. They will resurface soon, keep vigilant." He traversed the subway stairs with elegant ease. "Where did we lose her?"

Harold directed him, watching the tall man disappear into the same rabbit hole 'Alice' had moments before. "What are we looking at, Mr. Reese?" the man's patience was short this day. He stood beneath the equestrian statue of George Washington, too anxious to sit any longer. His laptop held beneath his arm. From his location, he could see the newly renovated Pavilion. He sought shade, the sun uncomfortably warm today, as he had become accustomed to more temperate climate of late.

"A tunnel, Finch." Reese glanced both ways down the dreary damp space, which was lit by intermittent bulbs, most burned out, every twenty to thirty meters. "I can hear ..something." he strained to make out the muffled, echoing sounds. He stood quietly, getting his bearings.

Harold found a seat on another unoccupied bench, opening his computer. He scanned the thinned crowds hastily. "What are our options?"

Reese's eyes had adapted to the darkness of the tunnel. He moved forward slowly. "We wait..until I see what's up ahead."

Finch had hoped for more.

"Don't worry, Harold. I have faith in your Ms. Fellows even if you don't."

Harold's eyes lifted from his scan for a brief moment, his thoughts disturbing ones. The Flatiron building lay to the North, it's unique shape catching his attention for a second.

All around, New Yorkers went about their business, bundled against the approaching Northern winds reportedly coming in this afternoon.

The park was sunny and welcoming at this moment, however, Finch felt a cold prick of fear inside. "If anything of a harmful nature befalls her, John. I will never forgive myself."

"I won't let it, Harold." Reese moved stealthily down the tunnel, following his instincts on this one. "I won't..let it."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A group of men sat huddled around a low fire. To Cordelia, it looked as if there was a small grill they cooked on. She had walked past several make-shift shelters, some constructed of scrap wood, some of metal and wood, some of cardboard boxes only. One of the larger 'room's even boasted raggedy curtains, of all things.

Cordelia thought it so sad a place but she felt safer here, most times, than she did up top. She had been here a few times, when Millie was not at his usual haunts. People gave her little notice this time, too busy organizing their lives for the upcoming day, she supposed.

The four men had stopped their handiwork, looking at her curiously, two of them, immediately arose, shuffling off, heads down, their bodies bent by age or injury, she couldn't tell in the dim light. "Ohh, please don't leave." She asked, not wishing to interrupt their breakfast, if indeed, that is what she..interupted. "I'm just looking for Millie? I'm the one who brings him the cigarettes? Has anyone seen.."

"You got any on ya?" A black man stopped his path by, inquiring.

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, apologizing. "But, as soon as I find Millie..I will take him to get some. I promise."

"He went up-top..to Maxi's." One of the men around the small fire offered. "I remember you. You bought us coffee last time. All of us."

Cordelia was sad to say, she did not remember the man's face. She felt bad for the fact. She smiled gently at him. "It was my pleasure. Really."

"I can take you to Maxi's."

"No." she smiled again. "I know the way." She dug in her coat pocket, her fingers wrapping around the change from the turnstile vending machine. "This is all I have but..you are welcome to it."

"God Bless you, Sister." The man took the twelve dollars, nodding his thanks.

"Please buy food with it." She knew they would not but hurried back down the tunnel.

Maxi's was a little diner down by the Decker Building. The guy who owed it, often gave out left overs in the alley behind his establishment.

She hoped to catch Millie there before he left for the day.

Reese ducked into a shadowy nook, hearing footsteps approach from down the way. The light fixtures attached to the tunnel walls were in desperate need of 'maintenance'.

He was grateful the bulbs were out in this instance however.

Cordelia Fellows rushed by his position none the wiser, of his presence.

He watched her retrace her route, then disappear outside the grey, metallic door both had used minutes before.

He waited to hear the soft click of the latch. "I got her, Finch."

"I see her, John." Harold had sat up, his hope renewed.

Reese shut the door behind him, searching about, his eyes still dilating from the dark atmosphere he just left.

"To the left, John..about 500 meters, Four o'clock." Finch helped out. The younger man nodded, spotting his mark in the multitude of faces and bodies. Another train had just disembarked.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Cordelia sat slowly, never knowing just who Millie would be on any given day. "..Coffee..two sugars, two creams." She gently slid the ceramic cup past the out-stretched newspaper. She had lied about the money she gave the homeless guy. She had kept a twenty to get her home, later.

Not that she was looking forward to going..to that awful place. It was a matter of necessity. She needed her purse and glasses and..she had no place else to go.

Edward Miller was a balding man, of short stature who stood approximately five seven on a good day, his grey hair was wiry and unkempt. He was on the thin side these days, but Cordelia knew, come Summer, she could tempt him with his very favorite dessert of all time, strawberry shortcake and in no time, he would be back to a healthy happy weight.

The creamy brown eyes searched her features for a goodly spell, as he had folded the newspaper down, peering over the edges, a slight frown on his oddly attractive face. Cordelia had often equated this first initial moment of contact as Millie's way of 'buffering'.

His brain was categorizing memories.

She only hoped it would bring up some good ones this time.

But then, the perennially cheerful features softened and he reached, taking the preoffered beverage. "..Ahhhh. Starlight!" the brown eyes crinkled with a tender quality. "Where have you been? I was..concerned." he scolded slightly.

Cordelia smiled happily. "Oh, Millie..that is so..You." she laughed mirthlessly. HE..was concerned for her. She shook her head. The man did not have a selfish bone in his body.

"And why shouldn't I be concerned?" he wanted to know, sipping his coffee carefully. "ohh, that is good stuff!" he grinned at her. "The small things in life, Kiddo..it's the small things." He sipped again. "I think of you as the daughter I never had."

She smiled wistfully. He had a daughter but this was not the time to bring that subject up. "I have missed you so very much."

"And I you." He took the time to really examine her face. "Now..tell me. Where have you been keeping yourself? You haven't found yourself a young man, have you?" he teased but his features were shrewdly observing her. "I will be jealous."

Cordelia's smile faded a bit. "No..of course not. You know you're the only man I could ever really adore."

He nodded, chuckling lowly. "All well and good but something is different." He pointed an accusing finger at her. "something has happened. What is it? Can you tell me? Can I help?" he offered sincerely.

She reached, touching his hand, her fingers trailing away after a brief moment of contact. "I have to tell you something, Millie." She sighed heavily, sitting back in the booth cushion. "I don't think you will be very pleased with me after you hear..what I have to say."

The fact weighed heavily on her heart.

He spread his hands, shrugging slightly. "I forgive you..whatever it is, Child..you know that."

She lifted anguished eyes. "Don't say that until..you've heard it." She pleaded. "I just don't think I can bear to lose anyone else in my life right now but..I have to tell you." She knew she did. "I have to."

"Who have you lost, Cordelia?" he leaned closer, offering his hand, palm out. Empathy in the dark eyes. "Oh My..it isn't that feisty little friend of you.."

He was alarmed.

"No." she was quick to pacify. "Davy is fine. It isn't..her. It's you, Millie, that I'm afraid I'll lose."

"So you said but that's utter nonsense." He smiled benignly, touching her shoulder comfortingly. "what is this all about. Tell me."

Cordelia hesitated. "..Millie?" she began haltingly, feeling her way but she didn't have much time allotted. She leaned in closer, lowering her voice, having searched the hundreds of faces passing by the small café when they sit. "..are you aware that." How to put it as inoffensively as possible. She pressed her lips together for a long beat. "..there are moments when you ..aren't yourself?" she tried to read his face. She tried very hard.

But nothing seemed to be registering.

"When..you sorta.." she sought in vain for a tactful way to say it. "Well..there are..lapses in your thought process."

She was never sure he knew and frankly, had never found the courage to broach the subject. Those 'moments' were just a part of the man and since he never mentioned them..their friendship was such that, it was accepted and dismissed, she assumed..by both of them.

"Is that what we're calling them?" he held his smile, then dismissed the subject with a wave of his hands. Millie used his hands continuously when he talked. If someone tied them down, she wasn't sure he could speak. "Honey." He signed lightly, shifting in his seat a tad. "..Yes, Delia, I am aware." The gentle eyes softened moreso. "I'm sorry you had to witness ..that part of me. But," he shrugged again. "I am what I am. My type of 'crazy' is no worse than someone else's. I am only glad that it seems to be 'compartmentalized' on some days. That I can have a decent conversation with a lovely young lady such as..my friend, Cordelia Fellows."

His face saddened a bit and he cupped his hands around his coffee cup, staring at the creamy liquid for a long beat. Cordelia knew, his hands were always cold. No matter the weather. She worried about that..a lot.

"Bad things have happened in my life..as most lives." He allotted, philosophically. "At times, I can't control my memories and those times are very difficult for me to organize. I think it's just my brain's way of..protecting me from doing harm to myself or perhaps others." He lifted sincere eyes.

"You could never harm a living soul, Millie." Cordelia would stake her life on it.

"But..I have, Angel Face." He drew in a deep, quivering breath. "..Let's change the subject, shall we."

"When those..times come, you talk, Millie." Cordelia stated quickly. "You..say things."

He looked at her oddly. "Do I?" he seemed intrigued. "I thought it was all in my head. What..things do I say?"

"Ohh, Millie." Cordelia put her hands to her face, rubbing her eyes. She was suddenly ever so tired. "So many things..amazing things..horrible..things." she teared up, knowing now..how very true everything she ever heard was. "Unbelievable things!"

She sought out the warm gaze.

He sat back, musing to himself.

"I wrote it all down." She blurted. "I started writing it down, meaning to show it to you when.." she let it go. When he was..lucid. "But that day..do you remember, when I started to tell you. You had one of your episodes..a very, very dark one and I ..didn't try to share anything again but..I kept a journal."

"..Why?" he was curious.

"Because what you were relating was phenomenal and..improbable but..totally fascinating!" she told the truth. "And I swear before God, Millie..I was going to share the profits with you, if anyone was interested in the story and of course, I would have changed your name..or maybe even not used you at all. I only wrote a synopsis but then..just like you said, the bad people came and I've put your life in danger and that's why I have to tell you, so you can fix this..you can make it right. I'm scared for you! I've never been more scared, and that's saying a lot because, these people tried to kill me. They sent a man to my apartment but there is another guy..a good guy. He saved me, but…to do so, he had to kill this man. The man that came to my apartm…"

"Shhhhhh." The man moved over to her side of the booth, shushing her paternally. "Shh shhhhh." He patted her hand, his arm going around her shoulder. She lay her head down, swiping tears from her cheeks.

"They tried to kill me. And..Mr. Reese had to shoot the man. He shot him in the face and blood.."

"Stop now." The kind words halted her rising hysteria.

"You're in danger..grave, immediate danger and I don't know what to do and Mr. Finch wouldn't tell me."

The man held her for a long moment until he felt the trembling in her body subside a bit. "But..they didn't hurt you." He needed that confirmed and there was something odd and cold in his tone. So much so, Cordelia had to read his face.

"..No." she touched his cheek gently. "No..they didn't hurt me, Millie. I'm not the issue here. Please..listen to me." She begged. "You have to leave..you have to find somewhere they will not think to look. You're smart. You've done this before..haven't you. You have to do it again. Now! Today! This very minut.."

"So..they are back, are they." He half chuckled at the thought. "I thought I had lost them years ago."

She shook her head. "I have money. I can help."

Miller sat back, his arm laying now, along the back of the booth. "My friends are here, Sweetheart. I don't want to leave." He stroked her cheek line in open affection. "I'm finally..at peace. Most of the time." He kissed her forehead. "That's all a man can ask, I think. No…No, I'm not going to run anymore."

"They will find you." Her blood chilled.

"Their little machine has limits." he glanced over at the bank on the corner of the block. "Their cameras see all, .. they listen to us, our private moments..but, the machine isn't God, Delia. It has flaws. And I know them, each and every one."

"The 1984 Machine?" she spoke her thoughts aloud. "Mr. Finch's design."

"I don't know a ..Mr. Finch." Miller didn't. "but yes, it's a computer, a honkin big mother." He seemed impressed she knew any of what he had held sacred for so many years now. "And yes, bad people are involved with it's operation. It's you I have to worry about."

"You of all people should know to take this seriously."

"I don't disbelieve you, Love." He consoled. "But you have to understand. I'm old now, set in my ways." He used his 'dad' tone. "Death? Not so scary anymore, let me tell you." He teased.

"That isn't even funny!" she snapped.

"No, I suppose it's not..from your perspective." He conceded, sobering a bit. "These people have become my family, Honey." He smoothed her hair lovingly. "Just like you are. They may not seem like much to you or these..Eloi" he motioned to the people around them. Some eating in the diner, some outside the windows, but, meaning, the world in general. "here..but we Morlocks?" he pointed to his chest area. "We stick together. We're a Unit." He tipped her face, because she had dropped her eyes. "I belong again. I've found my place and sure.." he stated jovially. "Sometimes my train doesn't stop at the right platforms but that's ok. My friends..the Morlocks..they accept that too..just like you do, Little Weena."

Cordelia realized the situation finally. "..Ok." she smiled wearily at the man. "alright, Millie. We'll do it your way. Can I impose upon you though..just this one time?"

"What?"

"Will you trust me?" she was curious but more so, perhaps she was hoping..he wouldn't in this instant.

"With my life." He held up his coffee and pretzel. "Soon as I finish my breakfast."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"What are we waiting for now?" Finch was at his wit's end.

Reese's eyes swept the area. He was across the street from the diner, his shoulder leaning against a convenient street light. He sent another picture of the marks. "You getting these?"

"Yes, yes.." Finch dutifully filed the photos Reese was sending into a file. "but, I am more concerned for their safety as you should be. The quicker we get them in, the quicker.."

"I can't just walk up and abduct them. People notice such things even in New York." Reese drawled.

"And..if we lose them again?"

"I won't." Reese smiled politely to a very pretty woman passing by his line of vision for..she had smiled at him.

"But..if you do?"

"I won't." Confidently stated.

Finch was exasperated. "You know, ..at times your confident air verges on arrogance."

"Tell me about it." Reese straightened, watching Cordelia and her friend exit the diner. "They are on the move."

"Yes." Finch's fingers ran over his keyboard, finding a better camera angle. "Where do you think they are headed?" he watched Cordelia hook her arm with that of the short, stout individual and proceed down the busy street. They walked slowly, as if they had not a care in the world. Harold suspected, the girl was matching her steps to the slower, more aged companion.

"I know exactly where they are headed." Reese followed behind, not too closely, mindless of the several looks he received from several passing females.

"Oh really?" Finch was getting a little testy. "Are you suddenly All-Knowing?"

"No, but you should have enough sense to guess at her destination.." Reese shook his head woefully. "She's bringing him to you, Harold. They're headed directly for the Square."


	21. All Things Must End…

Harold watched the two figures, absently putting his lap top into it's carry case, standing slowly. He peered through the people passing by his spot. Edward Miller held out his hand to the waiting traffic, a gentlemanly gesture that the older generation often used when walking with a female.

Finch moved through the people in his path, toward the slowly approaching pair.

One part of him was elated because Cordelia had done the right thing..coming to him. Another could sense, from her frequent, awkward glances that, she was still not sure about her decision or..perhaps it was just that she was no longer wishing to have anything to do with him..in any capacity.

Their eyes had met once or twice and even from this distance, which was rapidly closing..it only took her a second to lower her eyes or..look away. Not a good sign at all.

She smiled brightly for her companion, pulling Miller up short after having crossed the street, fixing his shirt front, straightening his worn corduroy jacket. "Millie.." she chanced a hasty glance to a slowly approaching Harold Finch. "This..gentleman wants to make your acquaintance. I think you will have a lot in common."

She stepped slightly back and away. Harold having reached them, his attention directed to Edward Miller, although he couldn't resist a quiet glance in the woman's way occasionally.

The other man scowled slightly, examining Finch absently.

"Mr. Miller." Harold offered his hand. "It is a great privilege to.."

"..Professor?" the smaller man seem taken aback but then..his face broke into a wide grin. "..It IS you! You don't remember me." It was taken for granted by Harold's blank expression. "Do you." He took the out-stretched hand, shaking it gingerly. "I thought you were dead."

Harold stared into the liquid brown eyes, something trying to click in his head. He had seen those eyes before but..the straggly hair and unkempt beard..

"You used to call me 'William'." Miller helped jog Finch's memory, the thought amusing him, clearly.

"..Did I?" Harold was astonished at such a faux pas. "Why did you never..correct my misconception?"

"Did it matter?" Miller was even more amused.

"It matters..now." Harold was glad he could correct the blunder of before. "It matters..a great deal..Edward. If I may? It was a mistake on my part and I would like it if you would accept my apology."

Miller waved the issue aside. "The 'Gadget' took up everyone's time, Professor..not just your's. We are all guilty of using our time..unwisely. But, you did give new meaning to the word..workaholic."

Finch nodded slowly, memories surfacing rapidly. "The 'Gadget'." He lifted his head, musing to himself. "An apropos label. In reference to the 'Manhattan Project's' project of the same name." the man considered the similarities between his design and that of the other Scientists working on the earlier Los Alamos' collaborative enterprise. "the line from the Hindu scripture quoted by Robert Oppenheimer comes to mind. 'I am become death the destroyer of worlds."

"I prefer to think of all the lives we saved..and will save." Miller corrected Finch's statement. "Someone was going to create the damned thing. At least, our original motives were pure in nature."

Cordelia touched the older man's sleeve, getting his attention. "Millie? You and the gentleman have things to talk about, yes?"

Miller glanced back to a patiently waiting Harold Finch. "..I believe we do, Kiddo."

"Call me." She shoved the rest of her money into his vest pocket. "Don't lose that." She motioned. "And don't give it away."

She hugged him tightly, not wanting to let go. She might not see him again, if she knew Finch. He would whisk Millie away to a safe place. Would they be allowed contact? She didn't think so. "Do you remember my numbe.."

"Stop 'mothering' me." The man kissed her forehead, putting her away from him gently but firmly. "You're a 'Nudge'..go away now. Grown- ups are speaking of important matters."

She hugged him again, closing her eyes to the feel of the moment that she might remember it always. She swallowed hard, then..walked away.

On her way, she noted John Reese, who stood by, close but not too close, as always, keeping viligance over his 'wards'. "…Keep him safe." She whispered brokenly. "Watch over him."

The man nodded minutely, grasping her arm as she passed. "I will watch over you all, Cordelia."

She continued on.

Finch had noted the exchange but was too far away to hear it.

"She's a pip." Miller chuckled his mirth. "But quite the little nag, if you let her get away with it." He returned his attention to Finch.

"Those who assumed control over our project have proven.." Harold brought matters back to the table. "unsuitable custodians."

"Secrecy is paramount..think of the chaos if people knew their every word and action was being scrutinized." Miller pointed out the obvious, however. "that would not set well with the general populace, especially in our part of the world."

"How did you..find out about.."

"We weren't stupid." He laughed. "We could put two and two together..especially the mathematicians, Professor. We figured it out in time but everyone had a vested interest in keeping mum."

"There is secrecy..and then there is a line to be crossed." Harold said. "They have crossed it many times over."

"Not sure if they had any choice." Miller was ideological. "In theory perhaps. Too many variables in the real world. But, you know that already."

Harold wasn't so sure he did any longer, having now met John Reese.

"This…other system." He broached the subject warily. "What do you know of it, Edward? Can you tell me?"

"Not much..after Alpha shut down the project, the same people contacted me about a month later. I thought.." the man shrugged his stocky shoulders. "to be truthful, something had gone wrong with the prototype and we were starting from the ground up again."

'Alpha'..the designated sobriquet for Nathan Ingram. It all seemed so long ago suddenly.

"So these people contact me again, out of the blue and I have a job again. I do much better when I can keep busy." Miller continued his tale. "I was at odds when Alpha closed us down so unexpectedly. Too much time to think, you know? All the time in the world to..think." Miller was..drifting.

Finch hurriedly moved on. "You may call me Harold, if you like."

Miller studied the man carefully. "…Doesn't suit you." Was his decision. "Now, what's this all about? Meeting like this after all these years? I don't believe in coincidences..do you?"

Reese stood a discrete few steps away, smiling at the man's words. Miller did not miss much. John stood at military 'rest' unaware he had adopted the pose. It was simply a part of him now, his hands folded quietly before him.

Miller shifted a cautious stare. "…Is he the young man who saved my Cordelia's life?"

Finch glanced at Reese, motioning the man to another task. John moved off instantly, understanding the subtle hint, but all the time, he kept a close eye on the two men.

"He is a very good friend and yes..indispensable at times." Harold motioned behind them. "Shall we be comfortable?" his back was beginning to kill him. "There is so much to discuss. If you prefer another setting?" he gave the option.

"It's a lovely day." Edward looked up to the clear sky. "Fresh air heals the soul."

"Does it?" Harold wondered.

"Is your soul in need of repair, Sir?" Miller had picked up on the melancholy. "I think perhaps, Cordelia's is."

"Ms Fellows has had a very difficult time of late." Finch sat slowly, as the other man had taken a seat on the bench under the spreading elms. "She is much stronger than either of us give credit, I believe."

"She seems rather fragile to me at the moment." Millie shared his concerns.

Reese returned with hot coffee and tea for Finch.

"Thank you, Mr. Reese." Introductions were made. Reese's phone interrupted the proceedings, however and he excused himself.

Finch's brow furrowed for he noted that John was not using his regular cell. The younger man was up to something. He would question him later.

"Is he the man who broke my Cordelia's heart?" Millie was fatalistic about the matter, smiling over at Finch. "Someone did."

Finch had the grace to be..bothered, keeping his features perfectly placid. "Your..Cordelia?" he had meant to question the idiom before. "I'm not certain I fully understand the significance of that..phrase."

"She's like a daughter to me, better actually..because Delia didn't desert her Father when he cracked up like Sandra did." He quipped. "Although can one really blame another for bailing at such a time? Cordelia thinks I don't remember my true daughter..but I do."

Finch studied the man carefully.

"I just can't resist 'giving her the business' as she says." The dark eyes danced mischievously. "You and I are a lot alike in that fashion..aren't we."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Like the morning Alpha came down and asked how things were going and you delivered, in that dead pan way you have about you..that all the 'Gadget's' circuit boards had fried some time in the night and that you were tending your resignation. That you could no longer work under such primitive, trying conditions."

Harold's memory was suitably jogged. "..Good Lord. I did do that." He was incredulous. "Whatever possessed me?" he certainly could not account for his actions at this moment.

"It was a bad night for everyone." Millie spread his hands. "It was just your way of breaking the tension. We all had a good laugh..except Alpha. I thought he was going to stroke out. Losing you? Not an option." He chuckled lowly.

"What a horrible thing for me to have done." Finch was mortified by his behavior.

"Nahh. It was funny." Miller chuckled again..then sobered. "..Too bad about Alpha. He was a good man. He is missed."

Harold took a moment to remember his friend. Yes, Nathan Ingram was dearly missed.

"Say, you aren't one of Cordelia's 'walking dead' are you?" Miller lightened the conversation. "have you seen those kids out at all hours of the night wearing that garb? I get a kick out of them..as long as one of them doesn't try to eat my face."

Harold..smiled. "I have a job offer for you Mr. Miller. The position calls for your expertise. It would entail relocating but..the money is excellent and the climate is moderate year round." He put it on the line. "Did I mention..the offer has no expiration date. It is permanent, for as long as you wish it."

Millie…blinked.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Reese sat the tea and his coffee down on the computer desk as was his usual M.O. these days. He and Finch had fallen into a routine. Reese found, he enjoyed..routines.

"Oh..John." Finch pulled himself from his reverie. The man had been simply standing, in front of a row of dusty, neatly lined books, staring straight ahead. Until he noted another's presence. "Did our Mr. Miller enjoy the flight out?"

Reese could think of other topics to discuss but.. "He likes the warmer climate. Said New York winters were killing him."

"I dare say." Harold nodded slowly, making his way to his desk and his tea. "Thank you for making the flight with him. He will be safe on the installation."

"It's like Fort Knox there." Reese had felt rather claustrophobic himself. "Are you building another 'A-bomb' out there? Are we going to invade Canada?"

"Atomic Bombs are so very obsolete, Mr. Reese." Harold cut him a chastising glance. "and rather ineffectual by today's standards. I would not waste my time or resources."

"I passed your instructions concerning Miller's..episodes on to your top guy out there." Reese sipped his coffee, enjoying the aromatic scent of the dark beans he preferred. "He said you called him personally to explain the guidelines for dealing with the little guy."

Harold sat his tea aside, booting up his computers.

"Don't you trust this guy?"

"I do but Miller might be difficult at times. I would imagine, when and if he.." Harold shrugged slightly.

"Goes off the deep end?"

"Quaintly put but..yes."

"I explained that he is to be given every consideration and assistance, no matter the circumstance and that anyone not adhering to, or blatantly ignoring said rules will be terminated..I didn't elaborate on the method."

Finch smiled. "Words take on an entirely different meaning when coming from you."

The silence came and it was a comfortable one. Harold's melancholy mood returned, however. "..Did he seem..content, John?"

"Actually, he seemed like a kid with a new toy." John told the truth. "I think you've given him a new lease on life. He did ask about Cordelia Fellows though."

Harold moved carefully, keeping his tone neutral, his features placid. "..What about her?"

"He's concerned for her safety..wants to know when he can see her again."

"..Perhaps you should arrange a call?" Finch turned his body toward Reese, inquiring. "Of course. You would have to transmit from here. It's the only site I trust." He glanced at his office space.

"And you could arrange to be conveniently..elsewhere when I bring her. You want I should throw a black hood over her head?" Reese needled the guy a bit, finally discussing the elephant in the room. "that she not be privy to the location of our 'BatCave'?"

"Ms Fellows can be trusted." Finch snapped. "Not so certain about you any longer."

Reese chuckled lowly.

Finch arose, needing some files from his cabinets across the way. "I'm curious. You've never told me. How you managed to win Bertineau over to your way of thinking. I know you did, however." He stood, looking at the young man.

"Yeah? How do you know that, Finch?" Reese played along, saying his lines.

"I was rather alarmed, actually. I kept close tabs on both our young women, of course while you were away." Harold leaned on the cabinet with his arm supporting a goodly portion of his weight which eased his back somewhat. "Detective Fusco has been very good to help out in your absence. I alerted him. I thought they were being followed, actually, at one point."

Reese remained calm, waiting for the story to unfold.

"Turns out..they were." Finch watched Reese's reaction. There was none. "..I ran a check on the suspected perpetrators. They are hired out of a top notch outfit here in New York City. Someone has hired a full time security detail for the ladies and I was curious to know..who."

"Bertineau." Reese..grinned slyly.

"They are on permanent retainer." Finch nodded minutely. "What..did you do?"

"That day you met with Miller? Before..that morning?" Reese jogged the other man's memory. "I took a little trip upstate. It was no trouble at all to..borrow the guy's daughter and youngest son for a spell."

Finch..straightened.

"I just wanted to show him..our word is our bond." Reese shrugged innocently. "they were never in any danger and I told him, when he called. That a GPS tracker would arrive by FedEx any minute..which it did, while we were chatting. But now he knows how simply we can carry out.."

"Your threats."

"My promises."

Harold made a sound in his throat but..he let it go. "I see."

"I did good?"

"..'Good' is a relative term but..it was necessary. The end justifies the means with some people."

"I thought so too." Reese concurred. "You're going to act like everything is fine, though, right? We're going to pretend you don't miss Cordelia Fellows."

Finch's attitude altered visibly. "I do not inquire about your personal life, please desist from doing so of mine."

"I would tell you." John wasn't bothered by Finch's mood. "Davidivitch and I are still seeing each other..occasionally. I enjoy her company. I like her. She's a good woman."

Finch was still standoffish. "I am pleased you have found a ..friend. But that does not negate.."

"Come on, Harold." Reese exasperated. "I don't like to see you like this. Davidivitch says Cordelia is miserable too. What is that getting anyone?"

Finch was clearly interested in the news but his pride refused allow him say as much. "I have not been..that." he informed John. "I have been preoccupied. We had two numbers in your absen.."

"Which Lionel handled."

"..Yes. Detective Fusco is proving an invaluable asset although perhaps it's best to keep that to ourselves for a while longer."

"We aren't discussing Fusco."

"We aren't discussing..anyone." Finch sent Reese a 'look'. "If you aren't needed here, and it appears you are not, for the moment..perhaps you would enjoy some time off. Well deserved, as it is." He mellowed just a bit.

"Not talking about it won't make it better." Reese pushed the envelope. "Is it so horrible, Finch..that I care if you're feeling like shit?"

Finch..sat, leaning back wearily in his chair, relaxing his stance. "No..of course not." He inclined his head slightly in deference to his friend. "Of course not, John. Thank you..truly. I appreciate your concern."

"But..you're fine and mind my own damned business." Reese nodded sagely.

Harold thought it through..for a long time. "..No." he made his decision. "No, I am..troubled, it's true." He sighed lightl, adjusting his glasses. "I regret how matters ended with..Cordelia." he trailed off again. John remained quiet, giving him space. "but frankly, I have no notion of how to right matters, even if she would welcome such an eventuality, which..I doubt."

He lifted a grim gaze. "I haven't been able to dismiss such thoughts from my mind."

"Then maybe there is hope for you yet." Reese sat on the edge of the man's desk. Which he knew Harold disliked but the man didn't even seem to note.

"I don't mean that ..we should continue where we left off. That would be wrong, I realize that..finally." Harold had made peace with that part of it..he hoped. "It just seemed so…cold. How we left it and I do not feel such emotions toward her. I was angry, true but..no longer. I wish matters were different, that's all."

"You always tell me.. 'wishing won't get it done'"

"I have never said any such thing to you, Mr. Reese."

"Well, maybe you should have." Reese arose. "Get your coat, boss..we're going to take a much needed trip."

"I don't think.."

"That's your problem, Finch…you think too much."


	22. Who's Got The Malt-o-meal?...

AUTHOR'S NOTE: WHEN HAROLD WAS 'DRUGGED' BY THAT EVIL, EVIL BLONDE WITCH, JORDAN HESTOR (WHOM I LOVE DEARLY FOR GIVING US A PICTURE OF FINCH AT HIS BEST, BUT DON'T TELL HIM I SAID SO, ESPECIALLY WHEN HE WAS 'DANCING' TO SOME IMAGINARY MUSIC IN HIS HEAD)..WHICH I AM CERTAIN, WAS EITHER 'MY GIRL' BY THE TEMPTS OR 'IN THE SUMMERTIME' BY MONGO JERRY. THIS IS MY HOMAGE TO THAT DELICIOUS MOMENT….

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Harold Finch was unnerved..not nervous, of course. Nothing ever rattled the man's determined 'control' but..yes. Definitely unnerved.

He cleared his throat gently, knocking on the door facing again.

He waited, dreading the confrontation. Women could be so unreasonably emotional at times.

He far preferred the male specie, who reacted in just the manner they should to any given stimuli.

Men were either reasonable or brutish..civilized or uncivilized. There were no grey shades to a male's emotional responses.

Harold could deal with males easily. For a split second, he deeply resented John Reese for ever pushing him into this extreme predicament.

From inside the apartment, a very feminine voice could be heard singing rather loudly.. Finch thought he recognized the song..for a brief moment until, the lyrics all went awry.

 

'I Got Sunshine.. On a cloudy day..

'When it's cold outside…I got the malt-o-meal….'

 

Cordelia abruptly opened the door, the green eyes wide and..expectant.

He had not heard one lock or chain being unbolted..the idiot had forgotten to lock her door.

His first instinct was to chastise..severely but.. he settled for a sedate.

"I believe the song goes.. 'When it's cold outside..'I got the month of May.'"

The emerald eyes stared at him. He noted they were slightly..glazed over.

"You aren't the pizza guy!" she snapped her belief, slamming the door with a decided..thud.

Harold stood, glancing about the closed entrance then, back down the empty corridor.

Case in point. An emotional response he had not expected.

For a second, he pondered whether to simply turn about and make his way back to a patiently waiting John Reese, who was double parked. Finch knew the man had no intention of even trying to locate an unused parking space even though Reese had promised faithfully to do so.

On impulse..Harold tried the handle of the door. It clicked open.

His ire resurfaced and he threw caution to the wind, entering the apartment, readying himself to do battle.

Of all the stupid behavior! Even were the danger passed, of which SHE certainly had no knowledge..to leave a door unlocked in this city was just inviting trouble.

He had no qualms about telling Ms. 'High and Mighty Stupid' just that!

He stopped directly inside the small foyer, getting his bearings. From the small kitchenette to his left, came the rather melodic refrain, the continuing saga of 'My Girl' sung to the odd specifications of one, Cordelia Fellows.

 

'I got soooooo much honey the bees don't even sting me..'

'I got a sweeter song than you'll ever be.'

'I guess..you..say (she spread peanut butter on her bread, swaying rather provocatively to the song in her head)

'something, something..my way.'

'My Girl..my girl, my girl ..talkin bout..my girl..my girl. (she did the back up singer part as well. One could not say she was not talented in that aspect, Finch had to give her that.)

 

Harold tried to ignore the obvious, concentrating on his surroundings. He could see directly before him, a large double window, the night skyline of the city dimly seen through thick lace curtains that were partially pulled.

 

'I don't need no money, fountains or flames..'

'I got all the bitches, baby..one man can claim.'

 

Harold's eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. How could anyone murder the lyrics of such a popular song?

He determined to let it go..to rise above it all.

Dark blue panels hung sedately from ornate hooks. Before the window was a small desk, cluttered with unopened mail and advertisements. A pink lap top was shut next to a typing stand, on which a notebook rested, opened and marked with red correction circles.

The room was not overly spacious but adequate for one person, he imagined. In the middle of the room, sat a demure baby blue sofa with cheerfully striped blue and white throw pillows. One frilly lace heart-shaped cushion sat carefully askew, to complete the neatly arranged space.

"I don't know why it should surprise me that you barge right into a person's home." Cordelia had stopped killing the song, at least. She held a wine glass in her free hand, the liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim as she gestured in her speech patterns.

Finch noted a vivid red stain over by the refrigerator on the sparkling white tile of the floor. He also noted the uncorked wine bottle next to him on the bar.

"You spy on everyone anyway..why not just come on in." the wine went flying, splattering the front of the unused stove.

She sat her glass down on the faux marble counter, returning to her pastime. She licked peanut butter off her index finger, struggling with the new jar of strawberry jam.

"..I..eh.." Finch stepped, taking the jar, opening it automatically, handing it back. He pondered Cordelia's..condition. The woman had obviously been partaking. "thought you might sign my copy." He held up his newly purchased first print.

Cordelia lifted cool eyes. "I don't even THINK so!" she pointed a butter knife at him to which a glob of peanut butter still clung. "You want my autograph? Yeah..Sure…Right!" she disdained. "What was your considered opinion of my last effort again? Let us recall, shall we? I believe you said my efforts were mundane at best..verging on pathetic..a pretentious outing, with little character depth, no plot what-so-ever..and enough angst to fill the gap in the Grand Canyon."

Finch scowled. Had he said..that?

"I'll sign your stupid book! When the cows come flying home, Mr. 'I Am Soooo Well-Read And YOU Can't Write Worth A Crap' Finch!"

He lay the novel aside on the counter. "Good thing I did not stand in line, then..isn't it." He turned a direct stare on her.

"Did you see the pizza guy in the hall..did you run him off?" she accused heatedly.

"God forbid I should disrupt your culinary repast."

"So's your mother!" she disgusted, going back to her sandwich making. "If you even HAD a mother!"

"I thought we had gone over that ground before."

She turned about, snubbing him completely, taking her sandwich with her. She returned for her glass of wine.

"Ohh, that's right. You were a product of some weird Druid ceremony."

"I see..you can recall that tidbit of information but none of the correct words to a Temptation song."

"I have no idea..of what you speak!" he was duly snubbed yet again.

She was wearing another tee. Finch thought it might conceivably match the color in the sofa. It was form fitting. She wore no bra, the small breasts molded to perfection by the soft cotton fabric. She was chilled. Harold pulled his eyes from the stiff little nipples.

He felt his instrument twinge with..sympathetic inklings. He chastised it sternly.

The darker sweat pants looked just as soft and inviting, clinging to the shapely hips, and firm buttocks lovingly.

She had a couple of red stains on the bottom of the tee and a few dots down one leg of the pants from the carelessly mishandled wine glass, but..Finch did not think they detracted from the effect of the ensemble in the least.

He drew his eyes from the sensual little bottom with difficulty, sighing wearily. "Are you hungry? Perhaps we could go out for a bite. If you wish." Anything to get him out of this damnable situation.

"No, I am not hungry." She took a bite of her sandwich, chewing ..hungrily. "Nor would I go out with you if you were the last Morlock on the planet because that's all we are, you know." She swallowed, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "Eloi and Morlocks, according to Millie. That's all we are or ever shall be!"

"He sends his regards, by the way." Finch didn't even attempt to figure that statement out. "I can arrange for you to fly out to meet him if you would like."

The wind seemed to go from the girl's sails. She put her sandwich down..staring at the man, her expression a sad one. "..Millie?" Her glass teetered precariously in her hand. Finch stepped hastily, retrieving it.

"He seems to be adjusting well to his new environment and is asking of you." Harold nodded.

Cordelia seemed about to weep in Finch's opinion. "..I thought news of your friend might cheer you."

But..it had not.

"I..miss him." The girl spoke softly. "I wish he were here."

"It is truly better for Mr. Miller..at his present location. He is productively employed at a job at which he excels and appears to enjoy." Harold continued.

She nodded absently, arising, returning to the kitchen and the forgotten wine bottle. She stared at it longingly, her fingers playing with the smooth surface of the glass.

"I don't care." She announced with a finality he did not like, grabbing the bottle neck, taking it into the living room. She sought her glass, but Harold had discretely put it behind his back, held securely in one hand. "I don't need him and I don't need Davy. I'm just fine without them." She informed him haughtily. "I'm..ok!"

"Are we letting it 'breathe'?" he motioned to the opened bottle.

Cordelia checked on his meaning. Holding up the bottle. "Ohh..yes." she didn't know anything about wine only that this bottle was red. "That's what we are doing. It's what one does with wine, isn't it. We give it lots of air." She breathed in deeply, to illustrate the fact.

"..Decidedly." Finch tempered his reaction to the statement..just. He suddenly remembered he had not come here alone, reaching into his vest pocket, extracting his cell. "Excuse me." He was ever polite, turning slightly aside. "I have to make this call." He waited for Reese to pick up.

Cordelia looked about for a place of safety to sit her bottle, which she cradled most lovingly to her breast, but more importantly, she looked for her wine glass which was held securely in Finch's other hand now, the one she could not see.

The woman was somewhat mystified as to how her glass simply..disappeared then she remembered, she must have left it in the kitchen, traipsing off in search of the holy grail, happily humming…'Follow The Yellow Brick Road' from the Wizard of Oz.

Finch was pleased she didn't seem to know any of the words to that one.

"Mr. Reese? I just wanted to inform yo.."

"OH!" Cordelia was back in a flash, lividly wiggling her fingers. "Are you speaking to that..stupid, STUPID man?" she got right up into Finch's space. "You just give me that phone this instant! I have a thing or two to say to your..Mr. 'Two-Faced' Johnathan Reese!"

Finch..handed over the cell, curious as to the source of her mood change, certainly but more so..as to how John would take a slightly inebriated Cordelia Fellows.

"You stupid, STUPID man! Do you think I do not know what you are about?!" Cordelia Fellows asked plaintively.

Finch sighed, reaching. He turned the cell right-side up, but it was clear Reese had heard the slightly garbled accusation for he replied most civilly.

"Hello, Ms. Fellows. Did Mr. Finch get you to sign his copy of your latest.."

"Don't you EVEN change the subject!" Cordelia paced the small space in a vain attempt to vent her ire. "You stupid, STUPID man, you! I KNOW why Davy hasn't called or come by to check on me for three whole weeks now..it's because YOU have been monopo.." she stopped abruptly, the word sounding..odd to her ears. "Mono.." she covered the cell, whispering her dilemma to Harold. "..What is that word that sounds like Monopoly but isn't?"

"Monopolizing." Finch felt like taking a belt of the wine.

"It's because you have been monopoly-izing her entire life, but I don't care!" Reese was assured in no uncertain terms. "I don't need her or Millie or you what-so-ever! So don't even GO there thinking I do!" She started to hand the cell back to it's rightful owner but another thought struck her. "You stupid, STUPID man and don't you go thinking that you having saved my life makes up for the horribly..AWFUL things you've done to me since! Because..it DOESN'T!" she thrust the cell back angrily.

Finch took the phone, his expression resigned. He addressed his friend with but one lethal glare in Cordelia's direction but she had gone back to searching for her wine glass which was now clearly visible in the man's left hand, dangling down by his side.

"..I will get a taxi, John. You needn't wait and..thank you for.." he watched the woman search fruitlessly about the apartment. "Well..you know."

Cordelia turned, grimacing her distaste. "Oh, as if I care about your little secret 'code thingies'." She quoted with her fingers. She threw up her hands, stomping off to the bedroom. "NO ONE CARES ABOUT YOUR LITTLE 'CODE THINGIES'..TRUST ME!" she yelled over her shoulder, quoting once again, with her fingers.

"..John." Finch didn't know whether to apologize or call for back up but then..he did. "…Please stop laughing, Mr. Reese." He sighed heavily. "One idiot is all I can handle right now. As you can see, Cordelia is genuinely upset. I don't think it wise she be left alone at this stage."

"I am in total agreement." Reese curbed his need to laugh in Harold's face. "but what do I know..I'm just a stupid, STUPID man."

"Go home, Mr. Reese." Finch could see he would get no support on that end, hanging up the cell. He waited for a bit, removing his coat, setting the wine aside on the bar to do so. He looked for a place to hang his outer wear but the tiny closet in the foyer had no extra hangers. Cordelia's coat, the one he had purchased for her, was the only article within, actually.

He lay the long black garment over the bar, taking the wine glass to the sink, emptying the contents, rinsing it then placing it in the dishwasher. The cabinet to his right was half open so he automatically went to shut the door.

Inside he could see very few articles. Opening the latter produced a better view of two cans of spaghettios, one ramen soup package and some cheerios. He was curious, so..he opened the refrig.

A half eaten snicker bar, two cans of diet coke and two pats of butter on a white plate.

Finch..shut the door. He thought he had waited a respectable time but Cordelia had not made an appearance.

He walked to the half closed door to the bedroom, calling out, for he had no idea where she might be within the confides of the yet, unseen room. "Cordelia, please come out."

"I don't have to 'come out'..YOU have to 'go away' because..this is MY apartment, not your's. This is one thing you do NOT own." She sounded rather smug for all of two seconds. "…Do you?" her tone suggested..doubt.

"I have your ring." Finch tried again. He dug the small piece of jewelry from his pocket.

Within seconds, Cordelia peeked out of the half closed door facing. The small, delicate features sullen but..curious. "..What?"

"Your Mother's ring." He held the piece aloft between his index finger and thumb.

"H-How did you.." she emerged from the room, in awe of his abilities. "The man said..he had lost it." She stared transfixed at the gold treasure. "I went back as soon as I could but..he couldn't find it."

She had cried and cried and cried.

And then she spit on the guy.

"You have it now." He lifted her hand, placing the ring within her palm. John Reese wasn't the only one who could take out insurance policies. Finch had purchased the item from the pawnshop owner at a ridiculously high price. Anyone could be 'bought'..if the money was available. He did not regret one cent spent at that moment.

Tears swam in the lovely green eyes that lifted so profoundly grateful to his.

"B-But..how?" Cordelia asked breathlessly.

Finch took the ring, for she still held it so sacredly, placing it on her finger..or attempted the feat. His touch unnerved the girl, and she had tugged her hand from his, fighting the stimulus his nearness caused. She shivered involuntarily, her entire system suddenly very much attuned to the sensation.

"N-Not..that finger." She hastily fumbled to place it on the correct hand.

Finch noted that her fingers shook.

"When..Mama passed." She looked at her precious memory. "this is all I had of her. At those..places. It was like she was there, with me and it wasn't so bad sometimes."

She put her hair behind her ear for several tendrils had fallen about her face. "When the ring was..gone. I thought she had been disappointed in me, that I would leave it like I did and..she had left. I couldn't feel her a-anymore."

Finch felt privileged to be privy to such a private confession.

"Your Mother understood about the ring, Cordelia." He reached to touch her hair but, his hand curled into a tight fist and he stiffened his resolve. "but..you have it back so..all is as it should be, yes?"

She touched the ring reverently. "Yes." She whispered softly, lifting a gently gaze. "Thank you, Mr. Finch. …Thank you so very much."

He inclined his head ever so minutely.

"..If you want..I will sign your copy of my book now." Was the only peace offering she could think to make in her befuddled brain.

"Are the cows flying home?" he checked the outside of the building but Cordelia just looked at him as if he were the insane one.

"Never mind." He dismissed, seizing the opportunity presented. "I should like a moment of your time, in lieu of..the autograph, if I could?"

AUTHOR'S NOTE..AGAIN. (AS ALWAYS) FINCH AND CORDELIA ARE TAKING forever TO COME TO THE POINT. BEAR WITH ME. ONE MORE CHAPTER..I SWEAR AND IT'S OVER AND DONE. I SIMPLY CANNOT LEAVE FINCH HANGING, AS IT WERE. YOU HAVE ALL BEEN MOST PATIENT WITH THE LENGTH OF THIS CONTINUING SAGA. I DO APOLOGIZE BUT I WISH TO HAVE JUST A BIT MORE FUN WITH THE GEEK GUY.


	23. Gratuitous Sex Chapter….

AUTHOR'S NOTE: FOR ALL INTENTS AND PURPOSES, THE STORY ENDED LAST CHAPTER BUT FOR ALL THOSE KINDRED SPIRITS OUT IN THE COSMOS, HERE IS AN ENTIRELY UNNECESSARY MOMENT OR TWO WITH FINCH TOTALLY OUT OF CHARACTER..BUT HAVING SOME PRETTY GOOD FUN. MATURE SUBJECTS. 

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Harold Finch was beginning to understand how Cordelia's mind worked..when..it worked. Which for some obscure reason, he found decidedly charming in nature.

She now felt 'obligated' to him. She would sit and listen if it killed her, which well it might, if the woman chose to go off on one of her infamous tangents..for Harold might well strangle her with his bare hands. What he had to relate was important and he wanted to relate it as quickly and efficiently as possible.

But for now, Cordelia sat, giving over her attention, those dubiously wary eyes staring at him most expectantly.

"First, let me relate a finding regarding the previous situation which first brought you to our attention." He had discussed the matter with Reese on the drive over and found the information gathered rather ironic in nature. "We knew there was a tracking device..that was never found. One planted on a personally owned article, probably. We have been concerned that it had never surfaced."

Cordelia had forgotten all about that problem.

"The day you..returned home. Mr. Reese watched over you for we were not certain the danger had truly passed. When you left your apartment, he entered." Harold held up a restrictive hand, warding off any righteous indignation. "He was following a 'hunch'. The night you were attacked, he really didn't have time to sweep the area sufficiently.. being distracted and what-not."

Cordelia didn't like to think of that time. It still made her shudder.

"The tracer was in embedded in the ear piece of your glasses." Harold finished briskly. "I am so pleased you simply left the eyewear, opting for a new pair." He had seen them lying beside her lap top in the other room. "This apartment.. is clean."

How he knew that, Cordelia did not wish to know. She cast 'the apartment' an ominous once over, all the same.

"And now.." he had taken care of the unfinished business end. Well, in a sense. He still needed to speak to her concerning.. "I realize, you do not wish to discuss the subject but discuss it we must, for.." he indicated she should make herself comfortable on the end of the bed for she stood more into the inner room than the outer, the way matters stood. "It has weighed heavily on my mind of late."

Cordelia glanced to his meaning, obediently seating herself, albeit warily, uncertain as to what direction the man was heading. She returned her interest post haste.

"Cordelia.." he sighed lightly, exhaling his pent up tension. He affixed his glasses more firmly on his face, his hand fidgeting with the rims absently. "As you may or may not be aware, I hold you in the highest regard. Although I was upset with you the day you left..that time was difficult for both of us, was it not. I..for one, did not handle the parting as well as I should have." That was an understatement. "There is much I regret concerning..my actions."

The girl lowered her head, now sensing his meaning and purpose behind it. The soft blonde curls were highlighted by the small bedside lamp, shining dimly on the nightstand by her bed.

"My pride was stung. I allowed negative emotions to get in the way of my better judgement and for that..I will gladly apology. Most sincerely." Harold felt better doing so, in reality.

Cordelia closed her eyes, emotions welling inside her.

"There is never a valid reason for one person to harm another emotionally." Harold believed his words. "If I have done so to you..know please, that I deeply..deeply," he emphasized. "Regret my actions."

The girl sighed wearily, shaking her head. "Please..stop." she asked brokenly. "This is painful enough without your 'let's be friends' speech." She arose, turning her back to the man, swallowing the sting of the moment. She suddenly hated the pinstriped pattern of the drapes which hung beside her bed. "The truth is, Mr. Finch." She knew it, gathering her courage and strength, both of which seemed nonexistent suddenly.

She turned soulfully vulnerable eyes to the man. "I..can't BE..your friend." The words caught in her throat. "I wouldn't know how to do that." She just..didn't. "The emotions I feel for you.." she hated her weakness. "Encompass so much more than 'friendship'." She sat back on the bed, rather drained. "I've tried to correct such thinking. In time, I will, eventually..I..know I shall." She didn't know that at all. She felt ..bereft. "It will take..time."

She hung her head dejectedly. "You must allow me..that time."

Harold Finch's mind was reeling. He wondered..did she realize what she had just confirmed? Or..was he mistaken in his misguided hope that he had heard something that, perhaps…wasn't there.

"Cordeli.."

"NO." she arose abruptly, her voice shaking. "You allow ME speak. You started this!" she accused. "I was just going to take my shower and..be done with it all but ..NOOOOOO!"

Finch looked down on the furious little features. He had never noticed, how clear her complexion was..the young people referred to it as..Goth, he thought. She wore no make-up, which allowed the true alabaster quality of her skin to show through. A small smattering of freckles splayed across her nose and upper cheek line.

"You had to hash it all up again, just when everything was settled and forgotten!"

"Was it?" he challenged.

"YES!" she informed him stoutly. But then..she felt the depression descend, reseating herself listlessly. "..For the..most part."

Finch watched the dour features, his heart thundering loudly in his chest cavity. "Cordelia.." he had to know, but still..a part of him did not wish to take the risk of a negative reply. He hesitated, torn..then forged ahead recklessly. "..Are you in love with me?"

He could almost have timed the 'righteous indignation'..

She did not disappoint, gasping her shock, her hand fluttering to her chest in a uniquely feminine gesture, and she had shot up off the bed like a rocket. "..How DARE you! Of all the conceite.."

She sputtered inarticulately, sounds escaping her throat. Sounds that, given other circumstances, would have caused Harold's penis to..respond in kind but, he concentrated on one problem at a time, disciplining his mind and his..reaction with calculated 'control'.

"I'm sorry." He didn't sound at all 'sorry', to Cordelia's way of thinking. He sounded rather..condescending, to her sensitive ears. "Isn't that what you just said?"

"I never said ANY such thing! NO!" she informed him heatedly.

"The emotions I feel for you encompass so much more than friendship." He quoted rather smugly, she thought. "I possess total recall." And he found, in this instance, he ..in no way, was adverse to using his abilities for evil.

"The OTHER part!" she suitably reminded, her voice getting a little shrill. "Do the 'other' part! The 'I've tried to correct my thinking' part!" she was beside herself. "What part?"

Harold lifted his head, weighing his options. "which suggests..you haven't been..successful..and that you are quite, quite..insane."

"No." Cordelia didn't think it meant that at all. "that is not what it suggests at ALL! And I was just fine until I met up with you and your stupid, stupid friend."

Cordelia knew the man was, above all else..reasonable..logical. She would appeal to that aspect of his mind. "Which is not to say, that sometime..in the distant future, we could certainly, almost..probably..become fast friends, just like you wish." She took heart. "that is definitely a goal to look forward to..is it not?"

"You realize." Finch had moved past such mundane trivialities. "That any association with me and my 'stupid, stupid' friend..could very likely put your life in danger once again. You of all people know the gravity of such a statement. Keeping in mind, however." He pointed out the positive as well, holding the large, anxious eyes easily. "The 'stupid' guy and I will be there when and if such an odious occasion pops up on the horizon. I did not have such an option with Grace for I was not yet acquainted with John Reese, who assures me..that scenario is no longer a viable threat."

"Oh..well, see?" she gestured the problem out as she spoke. "There is no 'association' ..as you said that day. Just a distant, probable future 'friendship' who no one, really..could object to, right?"

"..Cordelia." he moved closer and she moved..back. Which was exactly what he had hoped. "When you are lying in bed at night.." he hoped he was not making a huge mistake..

"My new bed?" she glanced to her left, confused as to the turn of the conversation. Although what the bed had to do with their 'distantly future friendship,' she could not even guess.

Harold..sighed heavily but..proceeded. "When you are lying there..at night..all alone." An awful thought struck him. Because of Miller, and the previous two numbers coming to the fore in Reese's absence, he had not been able to keep as close an eye on her as he would have liked. "You..have been alone..correct?"

He was ever so pleased to hear the mortified gasp of horror. "What are you implying?"

He had his answer. "When you are there..in the wee small hours of the morning." His eyes dropped to the sweet little melons, enjoying the sensually rounded curves of the small, ripe..deliciously succulent orbs. He lifted a heated stare. "Do you ever..indulge?"

Cordelia's scowl was a dark one, searching for hidden meaning in the carefully asked inquiry, finding..none. "Ohh..with the wine, you mean?" she grimaced endearingly. "Mr. Finch. I don't usually..do that. I was just feeling a little low what with Millie and Davy and..other things, you know. But, it's ok. I AM of age!" she rolled her eyes expressively. "For goodness sak.."

"No." he shook his head wearily, closing his eyes for a brief interval. "God give me strength.." he sighed his exhaustion, muttering dejectedly, then..turned on her, his tone sharp. "..Really?" he demanded.

Cordelia was taken aback by his demeanor. "What has gotten into you?" she felt his disapproval, stung by it. "Have you been drinking?"

"No, Cordelia..I have been masturbating, which is how I hoped YOU might be passing your time as well, then perhaps we could have compared notes.." He snapped. "You little idiot, you!"

Cordelia ..gasped. Which was her way.

"You've put me through a distinct type of hell these past few weeks and if there IS a God, he will surely grant me SOME sort of recompense for all the trouble and stress I have suffered at your fucking hands!"

At first..the girl blanched a chalky white and then..her cheeks flushed a bright scarlett red. Her mouth was agape, her stance..incredulous. The silence ensued for a goodly stretch and in the interim, Harold Finch..was able to calm himself somewhat.

He rubbed his hands over his eyes, shaking his head. She had done it again. Managed to force him to lose his control. Jesus, how he hated that.

For Cordelia's part, she fought through the conflicting emotions surging through her small frame. Her tummy always reacted oddly when he said..that word, of course. For it conjured up ever so pleasant possibilities, but she was becoming used to..that emotional state. But, the images his proclamation churned up in her mind? "Y-You would NEVER..do..that!" she was relatively certain and then..she wasn't, her eyes falling involuntarily to the noticeable bulge in the neatly pressed slacks. She remembered well, just how well-endowed the man was when..fully aroused but even now..

"I n-need you to go." She absolutely needed that, totally flustered and off-kilter suddenly, pushing the thoughts from her head. "You..y-you should go..right now!" she averted her eyes, turning her profile physically away from ..the vicinity she had been surveying. She fought the flush, winning in the end, hugging herself tightly, to ward off any tale-tell trembling her body might reveal.

The silence was unnerving her more than when he spoke. "Really..I just need you to.."

"Yes, well.." Harold, retraced a few steps, quietly closing the door to the room, turning back to the woman who stood, where he had left her, in the middle of the room, directly by the small four-posted structure. He would have thought her expression rather comical, given other circumstances. But, as it was..he did not feel like smiling. Not in the least. "We all have needs, Cordelia."

"You open that door and you walk right out of it, Mister!" 'Cordelia' was too incensed to deal with semantics.

"Are you certain you wish me to do that.." he held up a restrictive hand when she would have readily replied. "Because..I would very much like to..stay."

Cordelia was having none of it. "Why?" was the more prevalent question to her way of thinking. She didn't trust him one iota.

"That..is a very ..good..question." he seemed impressed. "To which I believe, I have the answer. Not sure you're going to like it, though."

No..he didn't think that she would be all that receptive at this stage, deciding on another tactic. "..I often find myself..envying Mr. Reese his knack for spontaneity. He seems such an uninhibited being." Perhaps a more fundamental way of explaining his point of view would suffice. "I.." he gestured absently with his hand. "Wish I were more like him at times..especially when it comes to you..Cordelia."

"What has that.. man, got to do with you closing my door?"

"Mr. Reese would know instinctively..what to do at this moment. I, on the other hand find myself somewhat.." he shrugged minutely, the material of his expensive tweed jacket moving fluidly with his action. "at a loss."

She found herself..bothered by his statement, frustrated with herself for being so. "..You are never at a loss." She dismissed. "What are you about, Mr. Finch." She asked more than accused. "Why can't you ever just say what it is you mean instead of playing all these elaborate mind games?"

She knew she would never be in his league. No..she probably would never be on such a level.

"Because I fear.." Finch stated hesitantly. "If I did..you would reject my..proposals, perhaps."

Cordelia lifted her eyes to the heavens, seeing only the plaster on her ceilings. "Oh, yes..that is an ongoing problem with me." She half laughed at the absurdity. Then..she disgusted. "You and I both know, that I would do ANYTHING you asked..EVER! I am sooo tired of pretending otherwise." She snapped waspishly. "Don't pretend this is NEWS to you, Mr. Finch!" she dared him to do so. "REJECT YOU?...Oh..MY…GOD!" What a ludicrous notion!

"I did not say..me. I said." He took heart, her words delighting him, in truth. He tried not to show it. "My..proposals."

"Which are?" she spread her hands helplessly. "I am not a psychic!"

"It is something one does not simply..blurt out!" he snapped right back. "Give a person some..time."

He could feel her impatience, feeling the pressure. "..It is of a personal nature."

"Well..duh!" she rolled her eyes. "Are you saying you wish to have ..relations with me? I GET that already, Mr. Finch. I'm not totally stupid!"

The man shifted doubtful eyes but in the end. "And..you are agreeable?"

She gave him an old-fasioned..impatient glare.

"What is it you are wanting?" she eyed him suspiciously. "Is it like..weird?" she could do..weird, she supposed. "How..weird? Like..whips and chains weird? 'Spanking' weird?" she..stopped abruptly, the idea..not unpleasant at all, to her amazement.

"You wish." Harold read her expression, secretly amused and decidedly..turned on suddenly. "Granted, you have needed a good turn over the proverbial knee since day one but..no. It's a little more involved than..that..more's the pity."

Cordelia sighed heavily, whipping the tee over her head, sending it flying across the white coverlet of her bed. She wiggled out of her bottoms, kicking them off her bare feet. She stood, totally devoid of clothing, a definite challenge in her eyes. "Your Mr. Reese isn't the only one who can be..spontaneous." she ignored his reaction.

For once, Harold Finch was..speechless, his eyes taking in the phenomenal beauty standing so defiantly before him.

The flat little stomach..the beautifully formed breasts..the ..beautifully formed..breasts. The lean, slender legs..the tiny fluff of blonde hair covering her nether regions.

"You've seen it all before." She had more important fish to fry. She moved ..closer. "Tell me ..what it is you need."

She lifted her arms, her fingers gently removing his glasses, placing them on the crown of her head. She leaned against him, wrapping her arms about his neckline. The tweed was scratchy on her breasts.

She moved back, pouting prettily for him.

Harold ..removed his jacket, tossing it aside, his true interest..for her body. His eyes could not stop gazing upon such..sensual erotica.

"Would you like me to hang that for you?" she had watched the jacket's descent to the floor. She busied herself with slowly unknotting the bright red tie with the tiny polka dots he wore so effectively with his red silk vest.

"No." he dismissed impatiently, his hands reaching, encompassing the smooth flesh of her hips. He pulled her close, his mouth descending, his lips parting her full ones hungrily. "That is not what I would..like." he whispered his urgency directly into her parted mouth, his tongue flicking the very tip of her's gently, eliciting a soft sigh.

Cordelia gave herself over to the wondrous emotions surging through her body, returning the passion of his kiss wantonly. She enjoyed the feel of the cool silk against her body, crushed to the vest material by the strength of Finch's embrace.

She reveled in the intimacy she was sharing with Harold Finch. Minutes ago, she felt utter despair and numbing heartache, realizing the moments they had experienced this night might well be the very last time she would ever see him.

He had come to clear his conscience, perhaps, or simply to say his own type of farewell. She no longer cared, for she thought, now..she might have a tiny bit better understanding of his motives..or at least, she prayed as much.

She hated to do so, but she broke the kiss, gently disengaging from the warmth of his mouth. His scent surrounded her again and it was like Heaven to be so close but..she wanted to make sure he decided to stay that way.

"I think.." she nuzzled the slight scratch of his cheek lovingly, sighing her happiness. "I know what you are trying to say." She sought his gaze, her own open.. "Your mind is unique. It's only natural that you would require more stimuli than most men. What with the equations and ..mind boggling data which you process on any given day?" she had never thought about it in depth before. "Who said.. 'The more complex the mind, the greater the need for the simplicity of play.'?"

"Captain James T. Kirk." Harold chuckled lowly, his lips easing a searing path along the fragrant flesh of her throat, his breath sending chills of delight down her spine. He hugged the woman tightly, his hand cupping the small head, as he drank in the fresh flowery scent of her hair. "Yes..I am a highly advanced, superior being and all you puny humans should bow down to me and do obeisance." He leaned ever so slightly to catch her expression. " 'Mystery Science Theatre 3000'.." he 'quoted'.

Cordelia..grinned at his playfulness. "You are different though." She squirmed out of his hold, catching his hands, tugging him gently. "Your intellect probably craves distraction"

"You are a distraction." He indulged her, following slowly, his eyes all over her body. "One, I should by rights, my vast intellect dictates.. ignore completely."

She backed to the sink basin, grappling behind her to place his glasses safely in a nook, her fingers clumsy and unresponsive for her mind was bent on going back into his arms, her mouth searching desperately for his once more. She melted to his form, her lips flowering under his guidance.

Harold ran his palm down the plains of her back, his fingers spreading over the firm buttocks as he pushed her into his arousal, which was hard and throbbing already with only a few seconds under her lethal influence.

Cordelia squirmed about, lifting her bottom unto the basin. "Look..Mr. Finch." She ..slowly spread her leg, sliding it along the basin, propped slightly, her foot braced securely.

Finch followed her meaning, glancing at their reflection in the mirror that lined the entire length of the sink.

"I have fantasies too." She shared, her voice hesitant..She watched his face ever so carefully for signs of distaste. "I've always wanted to..see it happen."

Finch pulled his gaze from the awe-inspiring sight, their eyes meeting, holding sacredly.

"W-Would you..like that, do you think?" she asked breathlessly.

Harold could not prevent his eyes being drawn back to the incredulous sight revealed to him. He..reached slowly, his fingers ever so lightly trailing over the heated flesh of her moist vulva. He could not look away, even though the soft sound of her intake of breath demanded his attention.

He watched as he slid his index finger ever..so..slowly..into the wet, slippery cavern, feeling her contracting muscles grip and tighten about his appendage, heat engulfing the thickness.

He lifted a smoldering gaze, leaning to take a pert nipple into his mouth to suckle leisurely while he thrust his finger slowly ..higher into the sizzling depths.

Cordelia's body arched gracefully, her raspy breathing encouraging his 'play' even more so.

Harold removed his finger, smiling briefly for the totally devastating moan of dissention the woman offered. He wasted no time, however, unzipping his slacks, extracting his engorged penis, placing it at the very entrance of 'Heaven's Gate.'

He caught Cordelia's mouth mid gasp, his tongue imitating the motion he would rather be performing..elsewhere. "Watch." He commanded hoarsely, turning his own attention to the proceedings at 'hand'.

Cordelia's passion glazed eyes blinked languidly, obeying, her fingers clutching his shoulders in a tight grip, relying upon him for total support from all fronts.

Harold leaned slightly, his fingers grasping, guiding.. pushing his rod against the tight pressure of her opening which gave way easily, allowing the very tip of his dick to slip past the pink lips of her vaginal port.

Cordelia cried out weakly, shifting to better accommodate his actions, sliding farther off the sink, her fingers digging into the soft crisp cotton of his shirt. "Ohhh." The sight of the man's hands on himself stimulating her beyond scope.

She could not get her breath but then..she didn't really care, too caught up in the lascivious emotions Finch was creating within her body. "D-Deeper."

He silently concurred, his own throat too dry and harsh with pent-up energy. He thrust his hips slightly forward, embedding himself inch by inch into the liquefied lava of her quivering chamber, grunting brokenly as he witnessed his emersion.

Cordelia wrapped her legs about his waist, supporting herself with one propped hand, her other, grasping his collar for dear life. She lifted into his second thrust, whimpering despondently, her head falling back, the long blonde tresses escaping from the 'tie' about the strands, parts falling about her face and shoulders.

Finch supported her slight weight with one arm about her waist, the other under her thigh for he wanted a good view of their love making. He wanted to see. Some primitive inkling inside his mind triggering a deep seeded desire. One, he himself, was not even aware existed until this moment.

For once, he did not analyze..nor question, merely..allowed the emotions to guide him.

He could not get enough of seeing his shaft disappear time and time again into the hot, steamy haven, his blood heating, his pulse reacting, his mind welcoming the images..the sensations..

Cordelia's mouth was an extension of his own, her lips pulling his soul from his body which he gladly gave over. But he would break the contact abruptly, each time..needing to return to the visual stimuli afforded him.

He touched her, anywhere and everywhere he pleased, time and time again, the smooth, warm flesh delighting his senses. Private places..sensual places, which made him quiver with anticipation. To see his actions reflected back in the mirror only heightened the experience.

He gently massaged her clit, knowing he pleased her by the desperation in her moans, the slight catch of her breath against his cheek line, the long, drawn out mews of smothered denials lost in the hollow of his mouth as she sought his kiss repeatedly.

He felt her release come in waves of tiny quavering- like implosions which traveled along the sensitive flesh of his penis, pushing him over the edge of reason, his control snapping like a tightly wound coil of cable inside his stomach.

He reveled in the strangled outcry of ecstasy Cordelia emitted. She had called out his name in a reverent whisper of awe and gratitude, falling back, exhausted and sated.

Finch had never felt more like a man.

Taking his reward, for he had apparently, earned it. He gave way to the all encompassing emotions threatening to devour what remained of his soul.

His fluid exploded from the tip of his slit, filling the tiny space it fitted into with creamy lubricant which spilled out the sides of the humid little home he now occupied, and quite frankly, had no intension of vacating any time soon. He keyed his body down as best he could under the circumstances, grunting his completion, closing his eyes to better..savor.

For he was perfectly content here. All stress evaporating like a whiff of smoke in a strong breeze.

Harold lay his head on Cordelia's breast, the warm, plump cushion cradling him lovingly. He never wanted to leave such an inviting place, his arms holding tightly to her waist, but he felt himself grow slack, the woman restlessly wanting off her uncomfortable perch, he imagined. She squirmed slightly this way and that, trying to regain her composure and a stayhold on which to balance her precarious position.

Harold smiled indulgently, relinquishing his comfortable spot for more practical 'accommodations' for the girl.

Cordelia smiled at him, easing off the basin, her cheeks somewhat flushed, for her own boldness, he imagined. "..I will..shower." she strived for normalcy, achieving the goal to some extent. She did retrace her steps hastily, planting a sweet, lingering kiss on his mouth before..padding confidently to the small shower stall. "You..don't have to go, do you?" she hesitated, completely unconcerned for her state of nudity, seemingly. "I mean..right away?"

He shook his head, in reality, not about to miss this display of immodesty for the world. The man had put his 'weapon' away, while Cordelia was collecting her wits, and now stood, re-tucking his shirt into his slacks.

Cordelia's smile returned and she busied herself with the preparations. "I'm trying to hurry, but I'm all thumbs." She laughed self-consciously. "It's rather unnerving..having you watch me..bathe." she turned her head hastily. "but I want you to stay!" she reinforced the fact. "I don't mind..really." she flashed him a brilliant smile. "I'll only be a moment..promise." she twisted her hair up, securing it with a plastic clip or two. "I'm just so happy that you came over tonight." She was more than happy, her heart singing joyously. She lathered the shower gel unto her loofah, spilling too much of the vanilla/lavender liquid in her haste. "Ohh.." she cursed under her breath, rubbing the slippery stuff into the small tiles of her shower with her toes. "Damn." She hurriedly lathered her body, wondering what he would have thought of her had she not wasted all this time and instead, offered him some tea or something. Not that she had tea or..anything except wine in the house to offer. "Mr. Finch." She called back over her shoulder. "Would you like a glass of wine? I'm not proficient at this 'hostess' thing. I've not had much practice but.."

She felt his hands take the loofah from her unresisting ones, shocked beyond belief that..

"Perhaps..later." the man gently soaped her shoulders, watching his progress with a vested interest. He found, he enjoyed touching her, even in this capacity..especially..in this capacity.

Cordelia wanted desperately to..turn her head..but, she dared not do so. He was massaging her body and it felt so very…relaxing, wave upon wave of searing pleasure cascaded into her brain. No one had ever done that for her before and..it was simply..phenomenal.

"Y-You..don't have to ..do that." She thought a polite 'out' would be appropriate.

"Am I doing it incorrectly?"

"Ohhhhhh…no." she closed her eyes, instinctively leaning back unto him for support for she wasn't sure her legs could stand much more of the excruciatingly gratifying ..diversion. "OHHHHHH.." she bolted upright instantly, having felt his nudity. She stared straight ahead, frozen.. "I..thought you said. There were rules of..engagement."

"You have to see it sooner or later, Cordelia." Finch had to face it…sooner or later. "I would rather know..now."

He took her shoulders, turning her about.

The crystal eyes searched his frantically. She did not know what he expected of her exactly.

Harold leaned, taking her in his arms, his mouth parting her lips wantonly, his body pressed to her's. She felt his instant response, his penis lengthening between their bodies, laying rigidly against her abdomen.

She tip-toed, her tongue giving way to his more aggressive one and she moaned her contentment, her arms lifting, embracing his neckline tightly.

Harold's hand eased to her hip then traveled upward, capturing one heavy mound in his fingers. He kneaded the plumb,slick flesh lovingly. "touch it."

Cordelia's hand fluttered to his penis, the warm fingers wrapping around the thick base of his apparatus. Finch chuckled his glee. "..I meant..my leg."

"OHH!" she released his manhood, flushing heatedly. "OHH, I am so sorry, Mr…"

"HAROLD." He laughed throatily. "you just copped a feel..surely it's alright for you to refer to me by my given name NOW..?" he delighted in her pink cheeks. "..Cordelia." he tempered his mirth, taking her hands in his, kissing the small fingers. "If you don't like..Harold..choose something else."

She lifted subdued eyes. "…What?" she ignored the warm spray hitting her back and sides.

"Whatever you like." He was magnanimous, smoothing her hair from her face, leaning to lick a few droplets off her shoulders.

Cordelia racked her brain, her body reacting more to the hot hollow of his mouth on her than his statement. "..Harry?"

"No." he dismissed readily. "Over your dead body. I shall call Mr. Reese on the matter. He will knee-cap you for me. It is what he 'does', I am given to understand."

She sighed, then..lowered her eyes. She knew not to make a fuss or show any revulsion or.. She settled for..gently trailing her fingertips along the puckered, red, unsightly scar. She felt him stiffen but..he weathered her touch. She lifted empathetic eyes, tears swimming in the vulnerable depths, tears she dare not shed. "You have a very nice penis, Mr. Finch."

Finch..laughed sensually. "..Thank you..Ms. Fellows." He inclined his head regally, kissing the tip of her nose in open affection, grateful for her reaction. "It is at your disposal..just say 'when'."

The woman..began an erotic trail of soft, fleeting kisses, from his earlope, to this throat..unto his chest, licking the droplets of water occasionally..across his stomach..her tongue flicking into his belly button. She nuzzled the dark pubic hair surrounding his organ.

She knelt before him, the green eyes raised. Harold swallowed hard, watching the play of emotions across her beautiful face. "YOU..say 'when'..Mr. Finch."

Harold's fingers curled into the blonde curls, urging her..closer to his erection. "You don't have to do..this." he mimicked her former words, uncertain if he should ask more of her than had already been given. "I have never been more..fulfilled."

"Do I do it..incorrectly?"

"Shit no." he shook his head minutely. "God..no."

"Then..shut up, Mr. Finch." Cordelia suggested, albeit respectfully..leaning..forward.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

EPILOG:

John Reese paced the floor, moving to and fro, like a caged tiger.

"Ohh, sit down. You're acting like a dad whose teenager has stayed out past curfew." Taylor Davidivitch, who had been pacing herself, on the opposite side of the room, snapped her growing disillusionment.

"Your little friend better not hurt Finch, is all I'm saying." Reese snapped right back, continuing his pacing.

"YOUR little friend better not hurt Cordelia, is all I'M saying, Mister ToughGuy!"

"Yeah..well." John was in no mood for semantics. "You haven't seen him these past weeks. She really did a number on him."

"Oh really..that is laughable." Davidivitch..laughed, albeit, sarcastically. "That poor child has been at her wit's end because YOUR guy was such an ass to her when he threw her aside like an old shoe! She hasn't eaten or slept! And it's all YOUR fault."

"MY fault?" John spread his hands out to his sides. "No..it's her fault. She didn't have enough sense to trust Finch even after we saved her life! He can't just forget something like that!"

Davidivitch threw up her hands. "Why did you leave them alone..maybe we should go over there..see if Cordelia is alright."

"You mean..see if FINCH is alright!"

The woman sighed impatiently. "Ohh, we're acting like idiots. They are both mature adults. They can work out their problems, surely. Without our interference." She chewed on her well manicured thumb nail, her expression..troubled.

"Yeah..yeah, you're right." Reese..resumed his pacing. "Harold would have my ass if I went back over there. He distinctly said to get lost."

"Well..what do we do?" Taylor was anxious. "I'm just one big bundle of nerves."

Reese..stopped pacing, cutting her a 'look'.. "yeah?"

She picked up on the 'something' in his tone and..those eyes were looking at her just 'so'..

"Oh, baby.." she pouted for him, easing her neckline this way and that. "I'm just so..tight." she shifted a seductive invitation, her fingers squeezing her nape.

"Hell..I KNOW that.." Reese cocked a brow. "Anything I can do to..help out?"

She ran a slow check on his body. "A few things come to mind."

John Reese..smiled slowly. He started forward in that cocky swagger he had about him. "Clue me in. I'm all ears."

"Not.." Davidivitch's eye's turned to flame. "all, I hope."


End file.
